Living History
by ardavenport
Summary: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan are sent to participate in the preparations of a Living History Play about an ancient defeat of a Sith Lord by the Jedi. The Sith are more celebrated than expected.
1. Chapter 1

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 1**

* * *

A curved silver hemisphere, fixed in the ceiling above, reflected the images of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his sixteen year-old Padawan Learner, Obi-Wan Kenobi, as they rose up into the tower apartment on the lift. The circle they stood on stopped, becoming flush with the floor, matching the smooth blond wood floor boards exactly, leaving only a faint outline of where the circle was.

Rising up from floor to ceiling in wooden curves, six narrow pillars surrounded the lift hole, but there was no control mechanism on their polished surfaces. Only the small black com keys, given to them by Temba, one of the Castle Custodians, allowed them to enter and leave through the lift, the only entry or exit. Their com units had been specially coded so they would function in the tower through the Castle's security screening. The places inside the Living History Lands were protected very diligently.

They stepped off the lift, away from the circle of pillars in the center of the apartment. Qui-Gon watched his young apprentice wander curiously about the open space. Except for the dura-stone support pillars rising up from the tower structure below and the clear-plas windows, the circular room was made entirely out of wood and other hardened plant materials. Smooth, shaped pale struts formed the hemispherical shell of the walls and ceiling above. Light filled the space from wide, nearly floor-to-ceiling windows on all sides, giving the whole space a very natural feel with views of mountain foothills on one side, a plain on another and an inland, fresh-water sea on still another. More than half the outer walls were windows, plus the transparent doors that led out to the covered veranda that encircled the whole apartment. Light came in from three skylights. A forest of lush plants grew outside in huge pots and waist-high containers on the encircling balcony. Obi-Wan stood in profile, a spectacular vista behind him as he looked the windows up and down, his Padawan's tail lock sticking straight out from the back of his closely cut hair.

This place had been maintained as it was for the past eight thousand years, but Qui-Gon noted a few fixtures that looked out of place; a door, a few inset wall panels that looked too smooth, a shade off from the more natural beige, tan and brown tones around them, Some modern conveniences compromised the historic setting, added for the benefit of the Jedi guests from the Galactic Republic.

Obi-Wan left his travel pack on the floor and explored the food prep alcove and storage area, sliding compartment doors open and looking inside, sometimes taking out a box to examine. Qui-Gon smiled. He was not hungry at all, their last meal before landing on this world had been unappetizing ship-fare and after their tedious morning, his apprentice would be eager for some refreshment.

Qui-Gon hefted his own pack and circled the lift pillars. The sleeping areas were at opposite ends of the apartment with 'walls' defined by more slender pillars and semi-transparent curtains. One had a smaller room with light streaming through white curtains that partially covered the windows and divided the sleeping area from the rest of the apartment The other end had a larger room with blue, less transparent curtains behind the wide headboard of the sleeping platform and gathered to the pillar 'walls' that curved and arched upward to the ceiling.

Qui-Gon went to the larger sleeping area. He put his pack on a bench at the end of the sleeping platform and then sat down on the platform itself.

He was tired. They had been late arriving, the transport captain having added an intermediate stop at the last minute on top of her inefficient navigation. Then there had been a long delay at the entry station of the Living History Lands. The person who had been assigned to meet them was somewhere else because they were so late and someone else had to come, but did not have authority to admit them when he arrived. So, they had waited while coms were issued, messages left and checked, looking for any person with the much sought after authority.

When they were finally admitted to the Living History Lands they had to wait for a transport to carry them to the Naardin Castle grounds. And when they arrived they had to wait at the entry gate since it was the middle of the day and everyone was busy at another location participating in some early preparation for the History Play that the Jedi were to attend. When their escort finally came, he knew very little, not even who was in charge, and could only take them to where they would be sleeping during their stay. Apparently he had not been given official notification that they were allowed to wander Naardin Castle by themselves even though they were honored guests. Their escort apologized profusely for this, and assured them that the head Custodian would see to their needs personally, whenever she returned.

Qui-Gon yawned. He felt old. He supposed he was getting old. He heard Obi-Wan setting things down on the counters of the food prep area. The youth of his Padawan certainly reminded Qui-Gon of his age.

He removed his lightsaber, belt and pouches and then began loosening his boots. They were going to have to wait until late afternoon or sunset, so he saw no reason not to get some rest in that time.

Qui-Gon was wiggling his bare toes when Obi-Wan called out from the food prep area.

"Master would you like something to eat?"

Qui-Gon did not. He had no appetite. He just wanted to lie down on the sleeping platform and close his eyes. But it had been too long since they had eaten on the transport and the food had not been very good. So he rose and went to where his apprentice was working.

Obi-Wan had placed two plates, food scoops and tongs on the single round table in the apartment's eating area defined by the large circle of lighter colored wood flooring. There was enough room for the table, four chairs and a long side table.

Sitting in one chair, Qui-Gon picked up a cup of water and sipped. It was cold and tasted very good. He drank the whole cup. When he put it down, his hand lingered on its smooth surface. It's exterior matched the wood of the apartment.

Obi-Wan returned with a tray of various offerings in bowls. He set it down and then seeing Qui-Gon's empty cup, left and returned with a large container of more water. Qui-Gon thanked him and poured more for himself. Feeling refreshed, he looked at the food with more interest.

There was a mix of fresh, dried and cold cooked foods. Everything was bite sized and easily eaten with fingers or captured with the food scoops or tongs. He and Obi-Wan sampled the contents of the bowls and for a time there was nothing but the sounds of eating.

"Master," Obi-Wan asked, "will you allow me to see the Sith holocron after it is presented to you?"

Qui-Gon eyed his apprentice critically.

"If it were a functioning holocron, no. A Sith holocron is not something to be gawked at and I am disappointed that you would wish to."

"If it were a functioning holocron, would I have been sent on this mission with you to 'gawk' at it?" Obi-Wan retorted.

"No," Qui-Gon conceded. "We will only be retrieving the remains of a Sith holocron that was destroyed. The Jedi Order would have sent someone for it a long time ago if it were at all active. Yes, you may see it. After I have examined the pieces."

"Thank-you," Obi-Wan replied automatically. Qui-Gon saw no reason for his Padawan to be thankful for being allowed to view the remains of a repository of Dark-side knowledge, but he said nothing. It was youthful curiosity. Only time and experience would change that.

The Jedi Order had known that the remains of Darth Yarr's holocron were on this world, preserved in the Living History Lands, for millennia. Several people, Jedi and others, witnessed it's destruction after Darth Yarr's defeat. It was smashed and the pieces sealed up deep in a vault under the site of her demise; the Castle fortress they were guests in now.

As they were led by their guide to this apartment, Qui-Gon had cleared his mind, wondering if he might detect any trace of that long ago evil.

He had sensed nothing at all.

The Jedi Order was concerned with all Sith artifacts, but the broken pieces of a destroyed holocron was only of minor interest, mere scraps of past history. But it was still enough for the incoming Chancellor of the Living History Lands to bargain with. The Jedi would be given whatever remained of Yarr's holocron when the vault was unsealed. In exchange, a Jedi Knight (and Padawan) would assist with the production of the commemoration of the defeat of Darth Yarr, one of many historical performances that would be taking place in honor of the newly appointed Chancellor Mwetta's induction.

They finished their meal. Obi-Wan looked bright and alert, but Qui-Gon, though feeling better after eating, had no energy for anything. They both took the remains of their meal back to the preparation area and put the dishes and utensils in the cleaning unit that sat in front of a counter, apparently another anachronistic convenience for the Jedi. Qui-Gon saw a pair of large basins, pipes and water outlets for washing that they were not required to use.

Obi-Wan refrained from asking with words what they would do next. He knew better. Qui-Gon always counseled patience to questions like that. But his posture betrayed his impatience.

"We shall wait," Qui-Gon announced glancing toward the wide windows and the spectacular views outside, "until sunset, when our hosts are due to return. If they do not make an appearance, we shall make our own. In the meantime, I will rest." Qui-Gon caught a glimpse of disappointment on Obi-Wan's young face. He sensed a thwarted anticipation of activity. The open floor opposite the food pantry was spacious enough for some lightsaber sparring. But Qui-Gon had no interest in any exercise.

He paused a moment, thinking that a short time ago he had nearly spurned the meal he had just eaten, but he felt better for it now. Some light exercise might have a similar effect. But Qui-Gon decided not. He had not rested well on their trip out to this distant world and the long delays upon their arrival had been tedious.

"You may have the liberty of the rest of the apartment. You will not disturb me," his told Obi-Wan.

"Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon went to the larger sleeping area and pulled back the coverings. Laying down, he found the sleeping platform comfortably flat and firm. The pillows were soft and his head sank down into the largest one. He had to readjust, plumping the air out of the fluff inside them for comfort.

Closing his eyes, he heard Obi-Wan opening a door, his footsteps going out onto the garden balcony. A faint cool breeze passed over Qui-Gon's cheeks and forehead and it felt wonderful. . . .

. . . .opening his eyes, Qui-Gon did not feel as if he had slept, but he must have. The light above had changed. He stared up at the curved wooden planks of the ceiling high over him. The random waves and swirls of wood grain felt oppressive to him. A relentless pattern that would stare down at him year after year. . . .

. . . . He closed his eyes again. . . .

A small cool hand touched his cheek, his forehead. He shivered. Though his skin felt hot and stretched, his body was cold. The gentle touch on his face awakened his awareness of it. He opened his eyes. The light from outside was fading. Artificial lights had come on in the apartment.

He turned his head toward Obi-Wan, but shut his eyes to keep back the vertigo that suddenly seized him. Qui-Gon Jinn felt oddly pleased that his earlier weariness was not old age after all.

He was sick.

* * *

**= = = End Part 1**


	2. Chapter 2

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 2**

* * *

Obi-Wan jumped down before the elevator lift reached the floor of the darkened level below the apartment. In two steps he reached the top of the spiral staircase. Round and round, down and down he went, touching only every other step as he descended from the height of the tower. Pale yellow artificial lights came on as he went, adding to the dusky light from the high narrow windows he passed.

Finally reaching the bottom, Obi-Wan slapped the door control and slid through as soon as it had opened enough to let him pass. Desperate to find help, he ran, his running footsteps echoing loudly in the upper hallways, dark and empty. At the top of a stairway, he heard noises from below.

Coming out onto the gallery overlooking the spacious Tamwa Hall, he saw people gathered in small groups. As he rushed down more stairs, he spotted their guide from that afternoon, his head and long blue tunic and light blue smock recognizable from the others he stood with.

Pushing his thin Padawan's braid back behind his right ear, Obi-Wan ran to him.

"Venerate Temba," Obi-Wan bowed. "I - - "

"What?!"

Obi-Wan found himself looking up at a tall, broad shouldered-man, longish blond hair swept aside from a high brow. Dark brown eyes glared down at him critically.

"You told me that the Republic was sending Jedi for this Play." He turned away, pointing an accusing finger down at a middle-aged man in a loose blue tunic and smock decorated with silver trim. "Not younglings," he finished derisively.

Shocked, Obi-Wan just stared. Next to the his accuser, another tall thin man cringed; he had dark brown wavy hair hanging down to his shoulders and wore a long straight white tunic over a dark green skirt.

"Director Tykon, please!" another Naardin Castle official shouted, hurrying toward them. White-haired and stout, she wore long deep blue tunics trimmed with gold, a sign of rank. "Vernerate Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi here is the apprentice to Venerate Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn. He is an honored guest and must be treated with respect."

"Jedi Master?" Tykon repeated. He whirled back to Obi-Wan again. "Well, where is he?"

Obi-Wan gathered himself from his surprise and addressed the Castle officials.

"I'm sorry, Master Qui-Gon isn't feeling well and - - -"

"Oh, not another one! What's else can happen?!"

Obi-Wan drew back. Tykon thrust his fist downward in angry frustration. The other people in the group blanched and leaned back away from him.

"We'll get someone to see him right away," the man in the green skirt reassured. The man in the blue smock with silver trim was already speaking into a comlink.

"Director Tykon, please!" the senior Castle official demanded. "This is not helpful - - "

"Not helpful? Not helpful?!" Tykon raised his hands, his tone rising. He was athletic and well muscled under his sleeveless gray shirt and tight-fitting red leggings. "These Jedi have already got us a day late on this and now one of them is sick? Mwemas wants to make this into a cheap melodrama and we've hardly started the auditions? And I'm supposed to produce this event in eight days? How do you expect me to work under these conditions!"

"But . . . I heard you had a . . . special relationship with Director Mwemas; and you've worked with her before. 'The Long River_' _was brilliant, I saw it myself!" she stammered.

"After we cut all that talky dribble she wanted to put in it!" Tykon countered.

A person in purple head veils and thin matching outer robe over loose brown pants, shirt and cap came hurrying to the group.

"Venerate Custodian Tykon, you've had another case?" he breathed to the white-haired woman. Tykon was a very common name on Maarzim and Obi-Wan had seen multiple unrelated people with it listed in the mission briefing before leaving Coruscant with Qui-Gon.

She sighed, obviously grateful for the interruption.

"Yes, Healer Zhenum. This is Venerate Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi. He says his Master is not feeling well."

Obi-Wan found himself facing the newcomer, a round-faced man of middle years, brushing his veils back over his shoulders in annoyance.

"How long have you been here?" Healer Zhenum asked without any further introduction.

"We just arrived today."

The Healer's brown eyes widened with dismay.

Hefting the strap of a brown case over his shoulder, Zhenum demanded, "Take me to your Master."

They left the group behind without a backward glance though Director Tykon continued complaining.

"Tell me about everywhere you've been since arriving," the Healer asked as Obi-Wan led him back to the tower. Obi-Wan told him everything they had done as they climbed up the many steps of the spiral. The young Jedi had to stop and wait a few times while Zhenum paused to catch his breath and grumble about the historical accuracy demanded of the Living History Lands that did not include the anachronism of a lift that went all the way up to the top of the tower.

When Obi-Wan finally asked about Qui-Gon's illness, Zhenum shook his head, obviously recognizing the symptoms.

"It's a serphrada virus. It's been popping up around all the Living History Lands for the past few days. We _told_ those fuzzy-brained academics running this place that it would spread if they didn't isolate, but they insisted that the Living History protocols would keep it contained," the older man huffed, plodding up the steps.

"If your Master got exposed to it in one of the entry points then it will be everywhere in a few days and they'll have to isolate and postpone this five-story circus," he finished vehemently.

"Is it serious?" Obi-Wan asked, not really sure what a serphrada virus was.

"Not for most, but it can be. I don't know what the equivalents are for you in the Republic, but serphradas are devious little burrowers. You've got to hit them hard when they first show up, or before you know it, they're everywhere. And if you don't treat it aggressively right away you could end up chasing down chronic symptoms from it for years."

When they reached the lift, Obi-Wan took out his key card and put it in the slot in one of the a heavy support pillars.

Something clicked inside the mechanism and the circle of floor they stood on slowly began to rise.

Obi-Wan anxiously looked up at the mirror hemisphere above. Most of the daylight was gone, only a few pale yellow ceiling lights shone in the darkness of the shiny globe. Already he could see something was wrong, but he waited until the lift rose high enough for him to jump up into the apartment to confirm it.

Qui-Gon was gone.

Only rumpled white coverings remained where his Master had lain.

Something thumped behind the fresher door. When it slid aside Qui-Gon stood, leaning heavily on the door frame, the light of the small white cubicle behind him, his long brown hair hanging down loose around his face.

Obi-Wan and the healer rushed up to him, catching him as he nearly fell forward. The large man's weight caught Obi-Wan by surprise, but Zhenum was stout and clearly experienced with handling infirmity. They got Qui-Gon back to the sleeping platform together.

Stepping back, Obi-Wan saw Qui-Gon roll his eyes back and then squeeze them shut, hair splayed out on the white pillow. Zhenum dragged a stool over and clicked on a light control at the stand by the sleeping platform. Pale yellow lights came on overhead, leaving shadows only on the floor. The wide window-walls of the apartment were dark except for a glow of lights from other parts of the Castle and a scattering of town lights in the hills. The healer shoved his case at Obi-Wan.

"Hold this for me," he demanded. The young Jedi grabbed it and Zhenum retrieved equipment from the compartments before turning back to his patient. Obi-Wan stared over his head at his stricken Master.

"Now let's get an I.D. on this," the healer muttered after slapping a blinking scanner-box onto Qui-Gon's chest. He lifted one of his patient's arms, pushed back the tight fitting sleeve on it and jabbed the exposed skin with a probe. Then he immediately tossed the instrument aside onto the blanket and began rummaging in his case again.

Limited to watching and standing and clutching the medical case, Obi-Wan did not know what else he could do. He and Qui-Gon had both been injured at various times during his apprenticeship, but he had never seen his Master so badly disoriented. Now he felt trapped by his inability to help. Ready and willing to do anything necessary, he had no direction. Sitting on the stool, Zhenum calmly laid out a serious of instruments while Obi-Wan could sense his Master's suffering, a tense endurance of weakness and fever.

"Perhaps we should take him to a medical facility? With a medical droid?" Obi-Wan suggested. Zhenum sneered up at him.

"A medical droid? In the Living History Lands? Not unless he's critical. They're damn stiff-backed about preserving the atmosphere. That's why I have to wear all this." Zhenum tossed back the annoying purple veil from his face. "And if he can get to the fresher on his own, he's not that bad. I know you Galactics go running to a medical droid for every little hangnail, but a personal touch can do just as well for cases like this."

The probe bleeped. Zhenum picked it up and clicked through a list of text on the device's small screen.

"Hah! There you are. Serphrada-vee-tee-oh-oh-twire. Practically the brother of the other specimens we've collected. He got it here alright." He held up the probe so a chastised Obi-Wan could see a fleeting pink and maroon image of something with long tendrils on it. Zhenum tossed the device aside and picked up something long with a light on the end. Then, uncertainty clouding his brisk efficiency, he looked up at the young Jedi.

"Uh, what's his name?"

"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan answered, not bothering with the titles. Nodding, Zhenum didn't seem to care. His stool scraped loudly on the floor as he nudged himself closer.

"Now, Qui-Gon, you've got a serphrada virus. Nothing life-threatening, but they're still a bit rough. There's no direct way to kill it without risking it mutating into something worse. The best that can be done is go with some immune boosters so you can fight it off yourself, viral suppressers so you're not contagious and some relief for the symptoms. Now your assistant here said that you had a lot of dizziness, some fever and chills, headache, some soreness in the joints and a scratchy throat. Those are pretty standard for this thing, and I can see those on my scanner." The healer lifted his instrument from Qui-Gon's chest and checked the readout. "Anything else?"

"No," Qui-Gon answered, his eyes still shut, the first sound Obi-Wan had heard him make since he returned with the healer.

"Didn't have any more problems than might be usual in the fresher just now?"

"No."

"Hmmm. Serphrada doesn't usually cause many problems in the digestive tract." Zhenum clicked through the readings on the scanner, hardly glancing at his patient. "Any nausea?"

"Some."

"Well, we can do something with that," Zhenum announced, finally putting the instrument aside. He looked back toward Obi-Wan. "Can you get me a cup of water?"

Jumping up immediately, Obi-Wan put the medical case down next to Qui-Gon's leg and quickly went to the food prep area. He did not know how much water was needed, so he brought back two cups, one large and one small. When he returned he found Zhenum leaning over an unhappy Qui-Gon and looking closely at his eyes with his lightstick. He accepted the small cup from Obi-Wan who put the larger one on the stand next to the sleeping platform.

"Now," Zhenum said, leaning over and digging out a small clear-plas container from his case. Amber drops from it immediately dispersed into the water, "this tizote will help a lot with the headache, the nausea and the dizziness." The healer sat back. "Though I'm not really sure if it really treats the symptoms, or just makes it so you don't care about them. You should feel much better in the morning in either case." He looked down at his patient.

Without moving his head, Qui-Gon opened his dark blue eyes enough to glare at an unfazed Zhenum. Obi-Wan exhaled, relieved to see the calm critical expression, not the earlier dizzy confusion that had sent him running downstairs to seek help for his Master.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes again and inclined his head, a tiny motion of consent. Obi-Wan started to forward to help, but Zhenum already had his hand under the older man's head, lifting it just enough for him to sip the liquid in the cup. Eyes still shut Qui-Gon sighed back into the pillow.

Putting the cup aside Zhenum collected more scans and jabbed for a blood sample. Obi-Wan cringed when the healer stuck a swab up Qui-Gon's nose with no warning. But Zhenum just sealed up that sample into a clear tube that went back into his case, apparently unaware of his patient's now hostile glare.

"Then I should be recovered tomorrow morning," Qui-Gon stated, his voice steady but rough and quiet, lacking its usual strength.

"Hmmm, more like the morning after that," Zhenum replied, his eyes on the injection he was preparing. "It will take a little time for this to work." He tried to push back the close-fitting sleeve of Qui-Gon's undertunic, but it wouldn't go up very far.

"Oh, take this off," he said, annoyed.

Qui-Gon tugged at the fasteners, his movements clumsy and weak. Obi-Wan hurried to help him and Zhenum stepped aside out of the way. After releasing the fastener tabs and sliding the undertunic off his shoulders, Obi-Wan pulled it out from underneath. Qui-Gon's shoulders shivered. His skin felt clammy with sweat under Obi-Wan's hand and he reached for the blanket.

"Oh, not yet. I'm not finished."

"He's cold," Obi-Wan protested, his hand grasping the blanket that only half covered the sick man.

"I'm almost done. This is the last one."

Out of the case came an enormous injection this time. A cylinder of dark red liquid attached to a huge hypodermic needle.

"Turn him on his side." Zhenum already had his hand under Qui-Gon's hip and levered him up. Then he yanked the pants waistband down and in went the huge needle and the red liquid.

Obi-Wan clinched his teeth, his hands supporting Qui-Gon's shoulders. They shivered again.

Zhenum took the needle out and briskly rubbed the fleshy place where it had been.

"There," he announced, obviously pleased with his work. "That one's done."

Obi-Wan pulled the blanket up over Qui-Gon, covering his bare chest with the plush material and smoothing it down. From the Force he felt a feeling of relaxation, a headache lessening, fading into a warm haze. Or perhaps his Master was just relieved that Zhenum was finished with him. But when Obi-Wan looked up, he saw the healer preparing another huge injection of dark red liquid.

Zhenum saw his surprise.

"Oh, this isn't for him. It's for you."

* * *

**= = = End Part 2**


	3. Chapter 3

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 3**

* * *

Obi-Wan froze, his mouth open.

"You've been exposed. Even if you don't get a fully developed case of it, you can still carry it. This will stop that. We're going to need that, especially until those idiots running this place give us a real quarantine."

For an irrational moment, Obi-Wan considered refusing, just because he didn't want it. But he could hardly decline a treatment he had just helped inflict on his Master. Walking around Zhenum and his huge needle Obi-Wan slid his robe off and put it down next to Qui-Gon's travel pack. He heard Zhenum coming up behind him, so it was not a complete surprise when the man's hand reached up under his belt and pulled his pants down. But Obi-Wan still went up on his toes when the needle went in.

The liquid squirted in, cool and invasive, into his flesh.

The needle came out again and Zhenum rubbed the spot on his buttock when it had been, but Obi-Wan pulled away, turning around.

"Are there any side effects?"

The healer shrugged.

"Mild fever, lethargy for a few hours. Nothing even close to a primary Serphrada attack, but you might want to lie down for a bit."

Scowling, the Jedi looked toward the other sleeping area at the opposite end of the apartment. He did not want to be so far from Qui-Gon. He walked to the other side of the sleeping platform and after untying his Padawan's lock and putting the band on his wrist, removing his belt pouches and putting his lightsaber down next to the pillow, he lay down. The sleeping platform was large enough for three people to comfortably occupy. There was plenty of room.

Zhenum came around and slapped a scanner on his chest.

"I'll stay a bit just in case there's any reaction. I have to record a some notes on this anyway. And if you're already infected, you'll still get it, but it won't linger as long or be as bad and you won't be contagious."

Obi-Wan wondered why he hadn't said anything about that before injecting him, but he only nodded. He watched Zhenum go back to his medical case, wary that the healer might come back with something to stick up his nose, too. But he did not. Obi-Wan turned to look toward his Master.

On the other side of the sleeping platform, Qui-Gon lay more unconscious than resting, just out of arm's reach from him. Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan extended one hand toward his Master, sliding it over the cool coverings. In the hazy glow of the Force he could feel Qui-Gon's heartbeat. Slow. Steady. Strong. The control and clarity needed to draw on the Force ingrained so deeply in the older man after so many years as a Jedi Knight that it did not need conscious thought.

Relief warmed his thoughts, diminishing the memory of finding his Master ill, struggling to rise, falling and trembling, and frantically running down from the tower for help. It had almost seemed as if his Master was without the Force at all. The wrongness of that moment had pierced him with a deeper fear than he might have felt if facing his own death. He had not sensed that his Master was in danger of dying, but the effects of his illness had made him almost a stranger to him, a condition that he had been desperate to change.

Obi-Wan heard a low hum in the apartment. The lift.

"Mwassil. Z'morn. What are you two doing climbing all the way up here?" Zhenum's voice asked.

"You know the coms don't work up here unless you get special permission. And we didn't want you to have to wait to hear the bad news," a male voice said.

"Oh, no," Zhenum replied. "They're not ordering a quarantine?"

"They are, but just here. They've convinced themselves, since there have only been two cases here and the other four, that this is where the Jedi got it and that limiting access to Naardin will keep it contained," a woman's voice said.

Half-opening his eyes, Obi-Wan looked down his body toward the center of the apartment. Zhenum now stood with two other healers, similarly dressed in purple veils and brown caps. They stood together just outside the boundary of the curving wooden posts.

"How could they come to such a ridiculous decision?" Zhenum demanded angrily. "He obviously was exposed to it at the entry point. If they don't isolate all the Living History Lands that virus could be everywhere in a couple of days."

"Our new Chancellor doesn't want her plans for the big show to be interrupted by anything as insignificant as a health crisis," the man said.

"Idiots," the woman agreed. "But they at least gave us permission to bring in more staff, even though they keep insisting that we won't need them."

"Not so sure of themselves, are they?" Zhenum commented. "Well, these two will have company soon enough."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes when the three healers turned to look.

"Are those the two the Venerates from the Galactic Republic?" the woman asked.

"Yes. The big one's the one who's got the virus. I gave the young one all the contagion prophylaxis. They were together the whole day, so unless he's resistant to it, he'll come down with the serphrada, too."

"What about the big one?" the man asked.

"Pretty typical symptoms. He's got good initial response to the treatment. No reaction. And he's tough. He got to the fresher on his own before I even got up here. He'll be a lot better in another day. But they'll never get this history drama ready in time. Director Tykon is already kicking up a stink about it."

"We saw him on the way up," the man said. "Ugh, I've heard the stories; he's more upset that the History Play might be delayed. And he couldn't stop complaining about this Jedi getting sick and making him late. Didn't mean anything at all that he's a Venerate who came all the way from the Galactic Republic for his show."

"Artists like him are emotional, especially the good ones. And after those idiots didn't call for a full quarantine I think someone should be kicking up a stink," the woman agreed. "Now I saw 'The Stone Walls of Zwaeter'; it was transformative. Got the holo, too. It's not nearly as good as seeing it live, but you should see it."

"Maybe later." Zhenum did not sound enthusiastic. "I've done all I can here. These Jedi can handle one crazy director. They have the authority of the whole Galactic Republic. And the Jedi have got a continuous history line twice as long as this whole planet. That's why they're Venerates," Zhenum told his fellow healers.

"Well, we've given them a poor welcome. Oh, and you can't just leave this one all uncovered like that." The woman's voice approached, her footsteps hurrying toward Obi-Wan. Cloth rustled and then settled over him with hands patting the covering down over his shoulders.

"You can look in on them in the morning, Mwassil," the man's voice said.

"We'll be bulking up for more. And I don't want to climb up all those stairs again," Zhenum agreed.

"It's good exercise for you," Mwassil admonished, her voice moving away.

"Even better exercise for you," the man said back cheerfully.

"Let me get my things and I'll go down with you," Zhenum said.

Obi-Wan remained still while the healers conversed about the stupidity of the management of the Living History Lands. Zhenum's equipment clicked and clinked as they packed the case up. Their voices moved away and finally faded downward, the lift descending. The darkness behind his eyelids went black.

Lifting his head, Obi-Wan only saw reflected lights on the plants from other towers down below, dark shapes and faint, long glints of light on polished wood surfaces. He pushed the cover back and sat up. Feeling the promised lethargy, He did not know if he had a fever, but an uncomfortable pressure pounded in his head. Grasping his lightsaber on the pillow, he stood with only a twinge of dizziness. Fortunately the apartment was only sparsely furnished and the curved wooden pillars stood out as black shapes in the lesser darkness around them.

There was also the Force, but it felt hazy in his mind. His thoughts seemed unwilling to let go of the clutter of what the healers had said about Qui-Gon's illness enough for him to really connect. He used his eyes to find his way and, after bumping the toes of his boots only a few times, made it to the fresher.

Once inside, he found that it was a self contained unit. While the wood-paneled exterior seemed to have been made compatible with the rest of the apartment, the inside was modern and white with no sharp edges and common Galactic symbols on the walls. It even had a modest clothes fresher unit. Putting his lightsaber on a shelf, he relieved himself and looked at his reflection in the mirror as he cleansed his hands. His Padawan's braid, thin and limply hanging from behind his right ear, reached down past his collarbone. His face looked shadowed and pale, the moles on it standing out. He touched a sore spot on his chin, an emerging pimple. He washed his face. Then he carefully checked his chin again. Before they left the Temple, he had trimmed the stray hairs that had started to grow. His skin still felt smooth, but he had a small trimmer in one of his pouches for later.

He picked up his lightsaber, shut off the light, opened the door and leaned on the frame while his eyes adjusted to the dark. He carefully plodded back to the sleeping platform, his energy from earlier in the day had washed away with whatever medications the healer had given him. He sat on the sleeping platform and listlessly began pulling his boots off. He carefully put his lightsaber on the pillow again, within easy reach.

After removing his outer clothes, he lay down, pulled the covering over him. He turned on his side.

Qui-Gon had not moved.

Obi-Wan let go of all his useless speculation of when he might get ill, how they would finish their mission, how many other people would get sick. . . . .

The Force remained hazy and indistinct in the air, but present. When he fell asleep, he could still feel Qui-Gon's heartbeat.

* * *

**%% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %%**

* * *

The night was long. Achingly long and icy cold, the air clean and pure.

Qui-Gon Jinn opened his eyes and saw a dark wooden ceiling vaulting above him - -

- - below him - -

- - turning around him.

He shut his eyes again. Not seeing a reference point to be disoriented from only helped a little with the vertigo.

He was adrift in the middle of a vast tedium, decades long, cold and draining his life away. Warmth was only a memory, too long ago.

Nothing. There was nothing.

But. . . . .

He could still feel the power, the heat of it temptingly within reach, but the desire for it was gone, drowned in sorrow.

He turned his head and saw nothing but gloom in shades of dark gray. But there was. . . . . a presence. A memory.

Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon's random half-coherent thoughts stopped in confusion. The presence and the memory did not match, clashing in a headache-inducing double image. He floated in the dark, disconnected from anything, until the fragments settled, drifting downward into a familiar reality.

A soft pillow cradled his head. Under him. The curved dark ceiling above no longer seemed to be pressing in on him. And nearby, on the same sleeping surface. . . . .

Obi-Wan.

He only saw a dark outline, recognizable as a head, a familiar profile, and nothing more. But he saw his apprentice's presence like a blue after-image in the Force, quiescent but still pulsing with youth and life. Clear and distinct and familiar.

He slid his arm outward until his fingertips touched warm skin, Obi-Wan's hand.

Qui-Gon knew he was sick, but he would recover. He closed his eyes, a darker shade of dark against the persistent dizziness. It would pass.

In the Force, he could feel Obi-Wan's heart, and his own, beating together.

* * *

**= = = End Part 3**


	4. Chapter 4

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 4**

* * *

Almost morning.

The air was cool and fresh with living things. He inhaled deeply.

Opening his eyes, Obi-Wan could see colors in the early morning grays. Green plants outside, brightening blue sky through the windows.

Immediately awake, he pushed himself up off the pillow. He yawned broadly, but otherwise his lassitude from the night before was gone.

Next to him, Qui-Gon had not moved.

He scooted over the short distance between them and laid a hand on the older man's forehead. The skin was cool, no fever.

Qui-Gon's eyes opened slowly.

"Qui-Gon? Are you well?"

He breathed in and exhaled through his nose. "No." He sounded disappointed. "But I am better."

"Can I get you anything?"

"Not yet." He closed his eyes and continued breathing deeply.

Obi-Wan rolled over and off the sleeping platform to stand, the smooth wooden floor cool on his bare feet. He looked toward the opposite end of the apartment where his pack and a clean change of clothes were. And he needed to pee. He looked back toward Qui-Gon, unwilling to leave him by himself.

"You should attend to your own needs first. I will be fine," he said without moving his head from the pillow, his eyes still closed. Feeling embarrassed that he was so transparent, Obi-Wan gathered his things together and quickly went to the other sleeping area.

It was quickly getting light outside; he heard more sounds of chirping and squawking, saw a few small flyers, insects buzzing and darting among the flowering bushes on the balcony garden. He quickly took out what he needed from his pack and made a pile of dirty clothes at the foot of the sleeping platform. Then he went to the fresher. The washing stall was minimal, but the water was hot and felt good.

When he was finished, he stepped out, dressed in pants, under-tunic and open over-tunic. Carrying his lightsaber, he went back to Qui-Gon, who had remained exactly in the same place. With no idea what his Master might need, Obi-Wan opened the pack on the bench at the end of the sleeping platform.

"Would you like your clothes?"

"No. This will do. I do not believe I will be able to participate in any activities today."

Obi-Wan quickly dug out a roll of beige fabric and held it up. Straight and sleeveless, it would have hung down to the floor on Obi-Wan, but it only reached down to Qui-Gon's knees. He came around the edge of the sleeping platform with it.

Finally stirring, Qui-Gon pushed himself up to sit.

Obi-Wan hastily put aside the shift and reached out to support his Master with a large pillow. Still grimacing, Qui-Gon lay back down into a half sitting position. He lay panting while Obi-Wan waited for some other way to help.

"I am feeling better. I do not believe I have a fever, but the dizziness of this affliction is persistent."

"A healer is supposed to return. Should I call for one now?"

"I believe I can wait for their attention," Qui-Gon replied coldly. Remembering the healer's rough treatment the night before, Obi-Wan supposed that this was more than enough reason to not hasten their return.

"I would like some water."

Obi-Wan immediately went to the food prep alcove to fulfill the request. When he returned with a cup there was a pile of pants and underclothes next to the bed. The disheveled covering lay partially over Qui-Gon's bare chest and a foot poked out from under one corner.

Dragging the stool to him, Obi-Wan offered his Master the cup. He did not have any trouble holding it, but he paused a moment, the cup resting against his bare chest, before taking a sip.

The quiet hum of the lift started in the center of the apartment.

"Ah! I am so glad to see both of you up this morning!" the woman from the night before greeted them cheerfully. As soon as the lift platform clicked into place she hurried off it and bustled to them, her purple veils fluttering behind her under her brown cap.

"Are we feeling better today?"

"Yes," Qui-Gon answered, eying her warily. She turned to Obi-Wan, her round, smiling face beaming at them.

"And you?" she prompted.

"Oh . . . ," Obi-Wan answered; he wasn't sick, but he had been feeling unwell, thanks to the previous healer. "Yes, much better."

"Good. If I may?"

"Oh, of course." Obi-Wan hastily vacated the stool.

She took the seat, nudging it closer to her patient and placed her case on the stand next to his pillow. With a scraping sound and a thump, Qui-Gon's lightsaber was pushed off the back of the stand. Obi-Wan hurried to retrieve it, getting on his knees and reaching back to where it had fallen next to the wall under the edge of the curtains. Of course it was not damaged from a simple careless fall like that, but when he took his place behind the healer, he saw Qui-Gon giving her a very cross look. She seemed quite immune to it as she attached her medical sensors to his head and chest and opened her kit.

"I am senior Healer Mwassil. Healer Zhenum told me all about you last night.

Now this won't hurt a bit," she said, holding up a swab before jamming it up one of Qui-Gon's large nostrils.

"There," she chirped, oblivious to Qui-Gon's stony glare. "That wasn't so bad."

Next came the needles and sample collecting.

"Now, you are getting all this extra special attention because you're the first case we've had in this part of the Living History Lands. So, we need all this extra data to confirm where any future cases come from, whether they got it from you or some other source."

Qui-Gon stoically accepted her explanation though it was clear he did not see anything special about the attention he was getting.

"Now, lets look at how you're doing." She took out a small screen and read the sensor input. "Oh, you are doing so well," she congratulated him. "Any dizziness, sore joints, lethargy?"

"Yes."

"All of them?" She reached out and cupping Qui-Gon's cheek, turned his head toward her.

"Yes."

"Well, that is very typical," she answered, carefully scrutinizing his face. "Are you feeling up to a first meal?"

"Yes."

"Could you please get him something?" she asked, turning to Obi-Wan. "Something light, but nutritious. Maybe a bit of fruit and bread? Maybe some protein spread? But something he likes."

"Of course."

Obi-Wan hurried to his task, leaving Qui-Gon's lightsaber with his own on the bench at the end of the sleeping platform on the way. But he kept a wary eye on the Healer as he opened compartments and sniffed the contents of food cylindars. Healer Mwassil continued to chatter while his normally friendly Master only responded with single word answers.

Finishing preparing the meal, he loaded everything onto a tray stand and returned to the sleeping area. Mwassil was packing her instruments and samples into her case.

"Oh, yes, that looks lovely." She put her case on the floor, took the tray away from him and placed it on the stand. "Now, please help me take him to the fresher first."

She whipped off the covering. Qui-Gon was completely naked underneath but that caused her only a momentary worry.

"You're not cold, are you? " she asked, bending over him. "This mountain air can be a bit brisk."

"No."

"Good, that will make things much simpler. Help me with him, please."

Qui-Gon slid his legs off the sleeping platform; they each took a shoulder and lifted.

"Now, together, this way," the healer directed.

Obi-Wan could feel Qui-Gon's heart beating fast. But only briefly. After a few steps he was supporting his own weight with his two helpers guiding him, keeping his balance. Obi-Wan felt the Force in his Master's body, in the arm firmly wrapped around his shoulders. Step. Step. Step. Their bare feet slapped on the wooden floor together. Steady and strong.

"Oh, you are doing so well," Mwassil exclaimed as they reached the fresher. She tapped the door controller; the lights inside flicked on. Then she suddenly slipped out from under Qui-Gon's arm to dart inside. Qui-Gon teetered a moment from the unexpected change and Obi-Wan firmed his grip.

"Oh, yes, nice and cozy. Plenty of drying cloths and hand-holds," she approved, coming out. Qui-Gon went forward as soon as she was out of the way. But he turned around, his body filling the door frame that he leaned on heavily, his cold glare boring down on the smaller woman.

"Now, if you need any help, don't - - - "

The fresher door closed.

Mwassil took a step back.

"They're always a bit grumpy about being sick you know," she said, pushing back the edge of her purple veil. Then she sized up Obi-Wan.

"Now Zhenum told me that he gave you a booster last night, too. Are we feeling well this morning?"

He gulped, not liking the healer's attention turned on him. "Um, yes. I'm feeling well."

She grabbed his arm, dragging him back to where she had left her equipment. "Well, let's just have a look at you while we're waiting."

Obi-wan sat down on the sleeping platform while she took out her scanner and passed it over him. She 'hmm'ed over the result, put the device aside, took up another, seized his arm and swiftly jabbed him with it.

"Ow," he complained.

"Best to get these done quickly," she advised, slotting the sampler into a recepticle in a portable analyzer from her case. "Oh, yes, very good. Not contagious at all." She pointed a lecturing finger at him. "Mind you, you can still come down with it. Notthing to be done if you've already got the infection, so if you start feeling unwell at all any time in the next three days, call us."

"Is there any way to cure it? I'd rather not get sick at all."

"Oh, there's no way to stop it once it gets settled in. The best we can do is make it less troublesome. And you've had all the standard treatments. I would rather you stay up hear, so you don't frighten anyone else if you get sick, but they're desperate for you downstairs. Never mind a little thing like an epidemic getting in the way of this Play they're doing," she added, sarcasm tainting her normally cheerful tones.

"Is there any way to find out for sure if I have it?"

"Not really. Oh, there are some tests, but they only work on some people some of the time. And I don't know if it's effective at all for off-worlders. It's really not worth the trouble. Have you eaten yet?" She suddenly changed the subject.

"No, but - - -"

"Well, we cannot have that."

She grabbed his arm and headed for the food prep area.

"It's past time for you to take some nutrition. The stronger you are, the better off you'll be if that serphrada virus rears its ugly tentacles. Now pick something out that you like."

He tried to lean away from the older woman, but she stubbornly stayed close. They were about the same height, but he still felt intimidated. He very much hoped that he wouldn't be sick later.

He took out a container of yellow, green and red cut fruit from the cold compartment and served some in a bowl. Then he filled a cup with water from a cold spigot.

"Oh, you should try some of this." Mwassil picked out a container from the cold compartment, shook some into a clear bowl, covered it and popped it into the flash oven. Obi-Wan read the brightly colored label on the box; it was a local mix of starch, proteins and dried vegatables.

In a few seconds the oven pinged and she took out the hot mix and headed for the round table nearby. He followed with his fruit and water. After putting the bowl down, she hurried back and returned with an eating utensil and a napkin.

"Sit," she ordered. He sat and tasted the meal. It was good and he took another bite.

The fresher door hissed open.

"Stay!" she ordered as she hurried off. Still half standing, Obi-Wan saw her confront a much larger and completely naked Jedi Master. His long hair drooping around his face, he looked down at her as if she were an unpleasant obstruction.

"Give me your arm and I'll help you back," she said firmly, extending her arm to his waist. Their stand-off lasted only a moment before he accepted. They slowly made their way back, only pausing for Mwassil to turn and point back at Obi-Wan.

"Eat!" she commanded. "And I'll be checking when you're done to see that you eat it all."

He sat down, his eyes looking down at the food bowls before hin and then back toward his Master, who steadily plodded back to the sleeping area with the healer. Again, he sensed the Force in his Master, but he was not part of it this time, only an observer.

He continued to watch them as he ate quickly. They made it to the sleeping platform and she covered him up after he lay down.

"Do you need any help with that?" she asked, leaning close to him after placing the tray stand over him.

"No."

"Good." She sat on the stool and, taking up her medical kit in her lap, took out a scanner screen and busied herself with that while her patient ate slowly. He seemed to move his head as little as possible. Obi-Wan vigorously applied himself to his meal.

"You shouldn't eat so quickly."

Obi-Wan started, looking up from his bowl, staring back at the healer pointing at him.

"It's not healthy to gobble things down that way."

Behind her, Obi-Wan saw a smile creep onto Qui-Gon's face.

He slowly took a bite and chewed until the healer went back to her scanner screen. But his Master's smile remained. She did get up once to get a cup of water to mix with some medicine for Qui-Gon but she waved Obi-Wan back to his meal as she bustled about the task. His Master grimaced as much from her attention as from the medicine that she gave him to drink.

When Obi-Wan finished, he put the napkin aside, got up and went back to the sleeping area. Healer Mwassil was putting her things back into her case. She snapped it shut and stood.

"It looks like you're doing well now." She nodded to each of them. "Don't forget what I said about calling one of us if you feel at all unwell," she warned Obi-Wan. He nodded.

"Healer Mwassil," Qui-Gon addressed her for the first time, putting down his utensil. "You came here to help us with this illness and you have done so. Efficiently. And I have been unnecessarily short with your kindness. Thank-you for your service."

"You are quite welcome." She smoothed the front of her brown tunic with unmasked pride. "I don't know if it will be me following up with you because we are still fighting with those fools in charge about a quarantine, but someone will come to visit you again later tonight," she promised. Obi-Wan walked with her to the lift.

"You do have a com that will work in this tower? I was told that you have one," she half-whispered to him.

"Yes," he nodded. It was in his belt pouch over in the other sleeping area. Qui-Gon's was in his belt pouch with his things.

"Good. I know he's doing very well, but Venerate Jedi Qui-Gon really should have a way to call for help if he needs it. Be sure to remind him of that.

She sighed. "Director Tykon has been calling for you two downstairs. I suppose he is a bit demanding. but he is one of our best artists and only wants this event to be the best it can possibly be."

She stepped onto the lift platform and Obi-Wan activated it for her.

"Don't forget what I said about eating properly, too," she admonished before she disappeared. The circle of matching wood slid over the hole and clicked into place, sealing flush with the floor.

* * *

**= = = End Part 4**


	5. Chapter 5

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 5**

* * *

Obi-Wan went back to Qui-Gon, still slowly eating the meal before him.

"Did Healer Mwassil warn you that you might get sick with the virus?"

"Yes, Master." He nodded. "She treated me so I would not be contagious, but she said that there wasn't any reliable test to see if I was infected or any way to prevent my being ill if I was. It will be three days before we know for sure."

Qui-Gon sighed. "Then you must be mindful of that. We must carry on as well as we can. Get dressed, Obi-Wan," he instructed.

"Do you need anything?"

"I need nothing. But you must represent us today with Director Tykon."

Obi-Wan made a face. "He was very agitated about our delay."

Qui-Gon looked surprised. "You have met him?"

He nodded. "When I went to get a healer for you. He is very. . . . opinionated."

"Then you must find a way to placate him for now."

"Am I to represent you on the Play's Committee?" As senior visiting Venerate, Qui-Gon was to have a position on a guidance Committee for the History Play. The Jedi Council had told the Maarzim that it was not necessary, but the appointment was an unavoidable tradition.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "No. Since the Committee directs the Play's Mystery itself, only I am allowed to participate. In the meantime, one of us must participate in the preparations. I should be able to join you tomorrow. Get dressed."

Obi-Wan nodded, picked up his lightsaber and went back to his own sleeping area. He fastened his over-tunic closed, put the tabbards on and wrapped his obi over that. He put on his belt, attached his lightsaber, and then he sat down, picking up his boots. There was a large mirror hanging between two wooden pillars and he scrutinized his appearance carefully. Turning to the side, he tied and checked the curl of his Padawan's lock on the back of his head. He shrugged on his robe and then noticed the scattered dirty clothes from the day before. He dropped them off onto the clothes cleaning unit in the fresher and then went to Qui-Gon's sleeping area.

"Leave them," Qui-Gon said as Obi-Wan bent to pick up the discarded clothes on the floor. He had finished his food, put aside the tray stand and had been lying with his eyes closed. They opened now, dark blue gaze serious. "They can be done when you return. Or I will clean them if I'm feeling better. You should not delay any further."

"Yes, Master," he replied, embarrassed. He put the clothes aside on the bench at the end of sleeping platform.

"I do not recall you being so reluctant on a mission, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon commented.

He took a breath before answering. "I was. . . . disturbed by your illness."

"I have been injured before."

"Yes, but . . . . you were always yourself those times."

"Ahhhh."

Obi-Wan detected a note of understanding in that last utterance.

"There will be times, when you will have to lead when I am incapacitated. Or worse. You do understand this?"

"I understand it better. Now."

"Experience is a difficult teacher," Qui-Gon said softly. "Please get me the com from my pouch."

Surprised by the change of subject, Obi-Wan looked around for Qui-Gon's things, found the belt under the pack and retrieved the Jedi com uit. Walking around the sleeping platform, he held it out.

"Put it on the stand please."

He did so.

"Now, if you need my advice, I will answer your call."

Obi-Wan smiled.

"Thank-you, Master."

"Go."

He bowed and without a backward glance, left the apartment.

* * *

**%% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %%**

* * *

Qui-Gon settled back onto the pillows after watching Obi-Wan disappear down the lift.

His young apprentice had much to learn.

And his old Master had much to teach.

He closed his eyes, but that did not shut out the vertigo. He quieted his mind, relaxed his body. The Force flowed strong all around him, through him. But that persistent sense of dizziness remained at the back of his consciousness. He could compensate for it, find his balance with the Force, but the disorientation would not go away. It remained, a hazy boundary around his reality.

Perhaps he was getting old, he supposed. Or perhaps the virus just had a stronger focus than he did. The effects of it had lessened considerably from the evening before. And he felt slightly improved from when he had woken up that morning, a little less light-headed and weak. But Qui-Gon did not trust his own intuition on his condition, a rare occurrence for him. He wanted to be well and strong again too much.

And he still had little energy for getting up. Not just his weakened body, but his will and interest in rising were gone, drained away by the virus. That seemed to be the most crippling effect of the disease of all. . . . . .

* * *

**%% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %%**

* * *

Obi-Wan heard the crowd voices long before he reached the main hall of the Castle.

When he arrived at the gallery below the tower, he paused to look down at the enormous main hall below. On one end under a huge carved stone arch were stacks of large crates and dozens of gray square and rectangular sheets, some as big a two stories tall. A team of people in loose pale clothes and lifter droids had some of the crates open. On the other end of the hall, under tha gallery, a crowd of people, all dressed in pale blue, were held captive by Director Tykon, pacing and lecturing before them. The artist's speech had cleared a wide circle around him on the stone floor below.

"This is not a leisure day drama or some three-credit holo," Tykon shouted as Obi-Wan walked to the wide staircase and down to the main level. "This is your History. A revelation. You live the immortality of your ancestors and your own with this Play. And I expect you all to appreciate the honor you have been given." He paused to stare them down for a moment.

"You were all selected from the best and I expect nothing less. More importantly YOU will expect nothing less from yourselves. You will work and you will work as hard as you have ever had to in your lives because this IS your life. This may be the only shining moment you have in your entire careers because no matter what you make of yourselves after this, I will make you into the best for this Play."

Unnoticed, Obi-Wan stepped down into the back of the crowd. He could see the top of Tykon's blond hair above the others he lectured; he was taller than most of them. Obi-wan moved around the edges of the group, looking for a better view.

"This is your first audition. The auditions that will decide your places in 'The Tragedy of Darth Yarr'. When you are performing out there, it will be for History. This is your Art. And as soon as those sssats Jedi drag themselves down here - - - "

"Uh, here!" Obi-Wan raised his hand. Everyone turned around to look at him and immediately a clear path to Director Tykon opened. Obi-Wan walked forward, feeling the eyes of the others on him for every step.

"Finally!" Tykon exclaimed. He waited until Obi-Wan stood before him. Today, the Director wore flat shoes, skin tight black pants and a long, sleeveless white shirt plus a white sash tied around his forehead, his blond hair held flat under it.

"Where's Jinn?" he demanded.

"Venerate Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi!" someone in the crowd shouted. After some sounds of grunting and pushing, the Head Castle Custodian who had the same name as the Director emerged, though Obi-Wan seriously doubted that they were related. "Director Tykon, you have been given special permission to dress," she paused to look up and down at his outfit, "completely inappropriately for the Living History Lands, but I insist that you treat our guests with the proper respect," the white-haired woman scolded. He glared down at her contemptuously, then at Obi-Wan.

"And where is Venerate Jedi Master Jinn?" he demanded in precise, clipped words.

"He is still feeling unwell," Obi-Wan said.

Tykon stepped forward, standing over him.

"Then I suppose that you will have to do," he pronounced. He whirled around. "Places!"

The crowd suddenly scattered outward and the people in blue reformed into five rows. They were dressed identically in loose blue tunics with long narrow cloth stoles over their necks that hung down to their knees. These were belted at the waist. They also wore dark blue pants and brown boots. And though their outfits were the same, they had various colors of hair and skin tones for Humans and they ranged in height from short to as tall as Tykon. Both males and females. All of them respectfully kept their eyes on the Director.

Others dressed in different colored shirts and veils, all in pale hues, took up positions with various equipment. Three holo-recorder droids hummed above them. At the far end of the great hall a team of people ignored the activity as they worked on an elaborate stage. The room sometimes echoed with their various distant construction noises and voices.

"Now, Venerate Jedi Apprentice Kenobi, you will grace us with your History," Tykon's lip curled a little, "and demonstrate your use of the lightsaber to our performers before they compete for their positions in this Play." Tykon waved toward the lightsaber hilt on Obi-Wan's belt.

"Uh, what did you want me to do?" he asked.

"Pecku!" Tykon called out, "bring me one of those props!"

The Director's assistant, the thin man Obi-Wan remembered from the day before, ran forward and gave the Director a silver and gold cylinder. Pecku wore clothes in the style of the Living History Lands, loose pants and long tunic. Apparently only Tykon was allowed the privilege of violating that rule.

Tykon hefted the cylinder that fit easily in his palm and Pecku stepped back. When he snapped his arm outward a blue, glowing mechanical stick shot out of one end. He swung it up, down and ended with a twirl and a lunge forward that completely exposed his body to an attacker.

"Show me that. Or however you Jedi do it," he demanded.

Obi-Wan unclipped his lightsaber. With a backward sweep of his arm, he ignited it and took a defensive posture.

"Falgan!" Tykon shouted, startling Obi-Wan.

"I'll get him!" Pecku called out. Obi-Wan heard running feet. Standing again, he let his saber go out.

"No! You keep that on!" Tykon pointed at him.

"I don't keep it activated if I'm not using it," Obi-Wan said, stating the most elementary lesson of Jedi training.

"You're using it right now!"

To satisfy him, Obi-Wan activated his blade again. Tykon angrily looked at it and then at his lighted stick, disdainfully holding it up before him.

No one could ever mistake the pole device for a lightsaber, though it was obviously meant to stand in for the Jedi weapon in the History Play. While it was bright enough to be seen in daylight, it was obviously just a lit clear-plas stick, nothing like the real thing. And the device was completely silent. Qui-Gon had told him that the Maarzim had asked for real lightsabers for their Play. The Jedi Council had firmly rejected the request.

A moment more of Tykon's pacing later, a stout man in loose and grubby tan clothes returned with Pecku.

"Falgan, look at this!"

"You didn't complain about them two days ago," he said gruffly.

Tykon pointed at Obi-Wan. "Look at that!"

Falgan looked where the Director pointed and flinched when he saw Obi-Wan's lightsaber blade, safely angled downward at his side.

"Oh. I guess that is a problem," he admitted, his face now worried.

"Didn't you look at those holos?" Tykon demanded.

"Yes, but those things never get the brightness right," he muttered, now intently studying Obi-Wan's blade, his expression calculating.

"Well, fix it!" Tykon threw down his lightstick on the stone floor. It bounced a few times and rolled away. But the display made no impression on Falgan, who had his eyes on the real lightsaber.

"Could you hold that straight up, please," he asked.

Obi-Wan did so.

Falgan looked at it carefully, but did not approach. Tykon grabbed another lightstick from a woman in an pale orange veil and threw it across the room. The sound of it clattering on the floor echoed in the great hall.

"Lower it slowly," Falgan requested. Obi-Wan did so.

"Thesps! Line up by height!" Tykon yelled, stomping off.

For the next several minutes, Obi-Wan moved his lightsaber up and down, swung the blade while Falgan watched. He collected some recording equipment and then asked Obi-Wan to do everything over again.

Away from them, Tykon badgered, threatened and exhorted his performers through some exercises. Along with the dance steps, Tykon demanded singing. A keyboard player accompanied them. Obi-Wan watched as one person sang:

* * *

**We have a mission**

**A Jedi mission – destroy the Sith Lord!**

**Destroy the Sith in their lair!**

* * *

And a second responded:

* * *

**We have a mission,**

**A Jedi mission**

**And we have come to end**

**The evil Sith Lord's nightmare!**

* * *

Obi-Wan had not imagined that 'The Tragedy of Darth Yarr' would involve this kind of singing and dancing. History Plays were supposed to be a near sacred rite on this world. He had just assumed that this one would be more like a solemn ritual and less like a popular holo-drama on Coruscant with perky music sung by smiling, twirling performers.

When they finished multiple repetitions of the song snippet there was a break during which the crowd of people watching rushed out among among the performers, checking costumes and shoes, touching up hair and making quick minor repairs. After yelling toward the stage end of the hall for sound suppressors (the work crew did not respond), Tykon moved on to part of another scene. While the others watched, he singled out different trios to recite their lines.

* * *

** "What are you doing?" The first person demanded, pulling on a second person's arm.**

** "Me? Nothing. She can help us."**

** "Help us do what?"**

** "She works in the Castle. She'll let us in."**

** "I can," a third person said, slowly walking toward the first two, "For you."**

** The third person took the first person's arm and they walked off with the second one following.**

* * *

Obi-Wan had no idea who these people were playing, or what the Play characters were doing, except for the bit of song about a Jedi mission. That seemed self-explanatory. All the parts were sung by both males and females of varying ages and sizes. And every one of the singers had excellent and well-trained voices.

Falgan finally finished his recordings and sent his assistants off with their equipment.

"I'll have the new props ready by afternoon repast!" he shouted, interrupting Tykon's berating of three performers

"Afternoon?" Tykon shouted back, obviously not happy. But Falgan just marched off, not impressed.

* * *

**= = = End Part 5**


	6. Chapter 6

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

**= = = Part 6**

* * *

"You!" Tykon pointed at Obi-Wan. "Get over here!" Clipping his saber on his belt, the young Jedi jogged over to the group of performers.

"Take this." The Director thrust an extended lightstick at him. "And defend yourself when they come at you. Form a line!" The performers in blue tunics hurried to obey. Their Director signaled for one to come forward. She was a tall red-haired woman with a large bust, wide hips and a narrow waist.

"Now try to cut his head off," Tykon instructed, his hands on his hips.

The woman came at Obi-Wan, swinging for his neck. His stick blocked hers. She swung downward for his head. He dodged to the side and blocked that, too.

"Watch how he moves!" Tykon commanded as he paced. "Legs bent! Arms up! I better see these moves in your auditions!"

Already, the people in the line imitated his stance.

"Next!" Tykon shouted.

Each performer took their turn swinging their sticks at Obi-Wan while Tykon yelled out criticism and the occasional encouragement. Very quickly he saw that they were all interested in the best looking attack, not in one that would actually succeed. They took wide stances and extravagantly swung their sticks. And if they didn't, their Director corrected them.

When everyone (Obi-Wan counted fifty-one of them) had their turn, Tykon told him to attack each performers next.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked uncertainly.

"Cut their heads off!" Tykon answered as if this should have been obvious.

The first performer stepped forward, the red-haired woman again. She took a wide stance and tightly gripped the hilt of her lightstick. Obi-Wan carefully positioned himself out of arm's reach of his opponent. One foot forward, one back. Knees bent. He swung the lightstick at her neck.

Half speed.

If the Director was unhappy with that, Obi-wan was prepared to accept being yelled at. He was not cutting anyone's head off.

Tykon said nothing to him. He saved all his ire for his performers, exhorting them to wave their arms wider, move more crisply and shouting that no one would see any tiny little gestures. Ocassionally he shouted 'Yes! Yes! Like that!' when he saw something he liked, but that was usually followed by a sharp correction or complaint tha the others hadn't done what he wanted. They came on one by one. They were all excellent athletes, nimble and fast learners. Obi-Wan could have gone faster; they were quick enough. But he kept his pace. They were not fighters; they were not fighting. They were dancing.

In the middle of the seventh dancer's turn, Tykon suddenly yelled, "Stop!" He marched right up to him, towering over the slight young man dressed as Jedi Knight Keth. Obi-Wan stepped back, lowering the lightstick. Tykon had inserted himself between him and the performer.

"What is that?! what is that?!"

Eyes fearful and looking trapped, the Keth gaped back, not knowing what his Director wanted.

"That! That!" Tykon furiously waved around an imaginary lightsaber and hopped back and forth in abbreviated lunges.

The Keth repeated his routine, but only got through a few paces before Tykon's hand came chopping down so hard that the prop clattered to the floor, rolling away, the blade still glowing blue. One of Falgan's assistants scurried to collect it.

"No!" He waved his arms frantically, rolling his eyes, openly mocking the other's moves. "Get back to the end of the line and watch what the others are doing and get it _right_ when it's your turn again! Next!"

The performer slunk off while the next one took his place, her face set and eyes on Obi-Wan. She raised her prop.

"Begin!" Tykon commanded.

The routine continued with only the usual amount of criticism and rare praise from the Director. This Keth never took her eyes off Obi-Wan while she lunged and waved her lightstick. When her turn was done, Obi-Wan spotted the last Keth huddled with a couple others, while the rest of the group ignored them as if they were pretending the incident hadn't happened.

Halfway through the line, Tykon singled out another Keth for abuse though Obi-Wan could not see any significant difference in her performance from the others. He mocked her with a jerky imitation, elbows and knees and sent her to the back of the line. Two more got the same treatment; Tykon threw another lightstick across the room.

It was midday meal by the time they all completed one turn, except for another one who was singled out for abuse; he was the last to have his full turn with Obi-Wan again. Teams of Castle servants in blue came in with long tables and huge vats of food. The new noise and smells ate away at the order of all the work going on in the hall long before Tykon yelled, 'Break!'

The lightsticks were tossed into a big box, presumably to be replaced by new props from Falgan later in the day. People formed a long line for their food, the blue tunics of the performers mixed with the tans, grays and yellows of the other workers and technicians. Obi-Wan turned away from the scene.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

Obi-Wan looked down at one of the female performers. She was a head shorter than he, but broad shouldered for her height, with a prominent bust and small waist, dark skin and golden highlights in her brown hair.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Venerate Jedi Obi-Wan," she hastily corrected herself, her large brown eyes worried. He remembered that she moved a lot when she used the lightstick, forward and back.

"I need to check on my Master. He's still not feeling well," he explained.

"I am Yana Twarn, Venerate Jedi Obi-Wan," she answered shyly. He smiled back, accepting her introduction.

"I will return soon. If Director Tykon yells for me - - -"

"'_If_' he yells for you?" she asked with a grin.

He almost laughed at her observation.

"I will return soon." He crossed the hall, but when he climbed the main staircase and glanced back, he saw that she had not moved and she waved back at him before he turned away again.

* * *

**%% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %%**

* * *

Snip. Snip. Snip.

There was someone else in the apartment. Qui-Gon had awoken to the gentle sound of the lift. Soft footsteps crossed the floor before slipping outside, rustling in the plants. He felt the change in the air from an open door. It refreshed him as if it diluted and washed away the declining virus in him. But he remained motionless. And watchful. His illness had not gone away.

Snip. Snip. Rustle. Rustle. Rustle. Snip. Scrape.

Whoever maintained the balcony garden went about their business, pruning and arranging and collecting things. The quiet movements blended in with the sounds of the breeze, buzzing insects and distant activities outside. The morning slowly grew warmer in the rising sunlight, lessening shadows. . . .

The footsteps returned. Very close. . . . . . . closer . . . . . .

Qui-Gon's hand shot straight up, his other hand pulling the blanket back in the same motion.

"Aaaahhh!" a feminine voice cried out.

He looked carefully at the small hand that had been about to touch his head. His own large hand easily captured the wrist and arm and part of a rough faded yellow sleeve. His eyes looked to his right. He saw fear in the Human woman's brown eyes. She seemed to be in her late-middle years, her slightly sagging medium brown skin beginning to wrinkle around the eyes and mouth; she had a small pointy chin, her face getting jowly with age. Her graying, dark brown hair was pulled back.

"Have we met before?" he inquired, his grip still firm.

"No," she said. "I apologize for the intrusion."

He released her. She pulled her arm back and held it close to her body, rubbing it with her other hand.

He pushed himself up to sit. Carefully. Though he did not lose his orientation of up and down, the dizziness annoyingly came back. But he kept his eyes on her, waiting.

"I am Sebo, Master Jedi," she introduced herself, nodding toward him, "the Lady Venerate of this tower. The plants should be tended every day. I did not come the day before yesterday when you were expected to arrive. Or yesterday when you did arrive and became ill. I did not wish to leave them untended for any longer," she finished and stopped rubbing her arm. She wore shades of faded yellow. A long sunny yellow shirt, pastel yellow pants and a matching swath of fabric around her neck and shoulders. And plain, simple sandals on her feet.

"I hope your garden has not suffered too badly from your absence."

She shook her head. "It is fine. Some of the fruit had over-ripened and the creepers were getting into the other pots, but nothing serious." She gestured toward the food prep area. "I have picked some of its produce, if you would like something," she offered. Qui-Gon saw a basket with colored rounds and oblongs in it. He shook his head.

"Perhaps later." He looked at her carefully again; her wrinkling skin was nearly the same tan as the wood of the apartment. He sensed worry. . . . . that he might see something in her? "I was unaware that there was a Venerate lodged in this tower. Or that we were displacing you."

"You are our honored guests," she said, a smile touching her lips. "And this is a special occasion. I am the embodiment of the Lady of the Tower. I occupy this place, her life, her History, just as she did thousands of years ago. It will be my Mystery revealed in the Play."

The lift hummed. They both turned and saw Obi-Wan Kenobi rising up into the room. With an expression of surprise he jumped off the lift and ran toward them.

"This is Venerate Sebo of this tower," he told his apprentice when he approached. Obi-Wan bowed to her.

"You do not need to address me with my title," she corrected. "As Venerates yourselves you have the right to address me only by my name."

"Then," Qui-Gon responded. "You should address me as Qui-Gon and my Padawan here is Obi-Wan."

She nodded.

"Sebo has come to tend the garden. And she has picked some of its bounty for us." He pointed and Obi-Wan saw the basket. "How are the preparations for the History Play going?"

"They've had an equipment delay and won't begin their first audition until later in the afternoon. They've stopping for second meal. I came to see how were doing."

"Better," Qui-Gon assured him. While he still felt the dizziness at the edge of his perception, it did not threaten to overwhelm him. "I should be able to join you tomorrow."

"Can I get you anything?" Obi-Wan offered.

"If you and Sebo prepare a meal, I would be pleased to have some."

"I will show you what I have brought in from the garden," Sebo told him. They went together to the food prep area.

Settling back into the pillows, Qui-Gon looked about. The shadows in the apartment told him that it was much later the he had thought. He watched the two of them, Sebo showing Obi-Wan what she had picked, then showing him the heating and cooling units. They were apparently new, added for the convenience of the Jedi guests, like the fresher unit. They opened up enclosures and storage units and she talked about the contents and meals and cleaning.

She was the Venerate of the Tower, living the part of the dowager mother of Cloras the First, the leader who later, after her mother's death, ended a generation of chaos after the fall of Darth Yarr. This was the era maintained in this part of the Living History Lands, the times and after-times of the Sith Lord. And Sebo had lived her part for more than thirty years, since she was a young woman.

Qui-Gon listened carefully. Though his young apprentice did not notice, he sensed that this was an intentionally abbreviated version of the story.

As they prepared a meal, Obi-Wan told Sebo about the Jedi on Coruscant. She had never been to the Galactic Republic. She had never been off her home world at all.

Finally, Obi-Wan approached with a tray. Qui-Gon pushed himself up straighter. There was food for both of them. Sebo exited with her own tray through a door outside.

"She prefers to eat in the garden," Obi-Wan explained, setting the tray before him. Qui-Gon took up an eating spear and sampled a cube of cut fruit. Fresh from the garden, the juices filled his mouth with a pleasing mix of sweet and tart. Sitting on a stool next to the sleeping platform, Obi-Wan took a stack of leafy vegetables and filling with starchy rounds on top and bottom and took a big bite.

* * *

**= = = End Part 6**


	7. Chapter 7

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 7**

* * *

"How did this morning's activities go?" Qui-Gon asked after they had eaten in silence for a bit.

"They had problems with the props they are using for lightsabers. Otherwise the Director had me rehearse with the performers."

Qui-Gon chewed a bite. The berries were a little sour, but firm and very fresh.

"You find this disturbing?"

Sitting on a padded stool next to the sleeping platform, the tray of food between them, Obi-Wan grimaced, uncomfortable that his Master had read his feelings so clearly. Qui-Gon smiled. Obi-Wan was old enough to want to be independent, but still too young to really know how much he had to learn.

"It does not seem necessary for either of us to be here for these preparations, Master. Any one of Director Tykon's assitants could rehearse with the performers, who seem to be very familiar with their parts already."

"None of them are Jedi."

"Master, they do not need Jedi at all for this Play."

"This is not just a Play, Obi-Wan. It is a celebration of Maarzim History. The Maarzim connections to their past are sacred. They believe that it bestows a form of immortality, to themselves and to the people and events they celebrate. And they do it with performance. There are many other productions being prepared in other parts of the Living History Lands, with dignitaries from other parts of the galaxy to share the celebrations. This one commemorates the site of the defeat of Darth Yarr and for that, the Maarzim wanted real Jedi to help them celebrate their new Chancellor's investiture. Our participation in the preparations and attendance at the performance are considered a meaningful blessing for the event since the hertiage of the Jedi is unbroken since the time of Darth Yarr." Qui-Gon took a bite of leafy vegetable.

"Yes, Master," he acknowledged what they both knew from the mission briefing, "but I do not understand. This Play does not feel . . . sacred." Obi-Wan picked up a small pressed grain-round.

Qui-Gon chuckled. "It does not have to feel sacred to either of us. We only need to accept that it is to them. Be mindful of that, my young apprentice."

Crunching his morsel thoughtfully, Obi-Wan nodded, but still seemed uneasy.

"There is more?" Qui-Gon prompted after he finished the round and reached for another.

"Director Tykon is . . . . very demanding. And vocal about what he wishes."

Qui-Gon shrugged. "He is well regarded in his art. Many artists demand much from those they lead."

"Yes, Master. But he is very . . . . emotional. And angry when he doesn't get what he wants. Excessively so. It seems unnecessary. All of the performers are eager to follow his direction, but he is harsh and rarely acknowledges their skill."

"Aaaaaaaah," Qui-Gon nodded, understanding. "When Master Custrozhu instructed you and the other Padawans at the Temple recently, was he not harsh with all of you?"

"But that is training for battle, Master. Master Custrozhu needs to drive us to our best, because a real adversary would show us no mercy. And Master Custrozhu does not use anger to drive us."

"No, a Jedi would not. But a performer at Director Tykon's level uses all emotions, and for him the stage is a battlefield to be commanded and won; his performers are his army. A real audience will show them no mercy, either."

"Were the performers in the holo that you participated in at Director Tykon's level?"

Qui-Gon frowned at the mention of that long ago assignment. Master Piel had mentioned it in their mission briefing and Obi-Wan had naturally asked about it later.

"I did not 'participate' in the holo-drama; I merely advised. At the direction of the Council." Qui-Gon picked up a slice of fruit; there were only scraps left of their meal on the tray, leftover cubes and wedges, berries and nuts and a few smears of sauce on the plates.

Jedi were legendary in the Galactic Republic. So, naturally the writers and producers of holo-dramas ocassionally used Jedi. It was impossible (and against the Jedi Code) for the Council to stop it, though obviously some of the senior Masters in the Order would love to find a way. The Jedi Temple had denials for every possible inquiry about interviews, tours and personal details that were not in the histories and references approved by the Jedi Order. But sometimes, when an artist of sufficient credibility and a reputation for honest historical depiction sent in a request, the Jedi Council would deem it 'in the interests of the Jedi Order' to be properly represented to the citizens of the Republic that they defended. Qui-Gon had his turn providing guidance for a holo-drama when he was a much younger Knight.

"But you advised the Director of that holo-drama. Did she use anger to push her performers?"

"She did," he nodded, recalling that trivial mission from his past. It had been an adventure story for two lovers on Coruscant; the father of one of them had asked an old friend, a Jedi Master, to assist them. "She also used tragedy, humor, fear, envy, joy, surprise and anything else that worked to extract the emotions she wanted from her performers." The director and writer of the drama had been a small, bossy Twi'lek woman name Lela Ruturno. She knew exactly what she wanted and would settle for nothing less. She had been similar to Director Tykon, but she could intimidate her subordinates just as well with a simple glare than with a shout. She was intelligent and had done proper research; the story's Jedi, Master Brak'cha was as accurate a fictional representative of the Order as the Council could want.

Qui-Gon's assignment had been no more taxing than attending a diplomatic event at one of the thousands of the planetary embassies on Coruscant and he had spent most of his time with the elderly performer who portrayed Brak'cha, Roetee Zhazem. With a planet-sized ego and talent to matche it, she had been the martriarch of the whole cast who treated her with awe and reverence. When she wasn't entertaining her fellow dramatists with songs and tales of her past exploits, she could turn the character of Brak'cha off and on like a switch. Director Lela Ruturno had no reason to glare in Zhazem's direction. Roetee Zhazem was widely memorialized when she died a few years later and even the Jedi Council had acknowledge her with a terse 'talented artist who has now joined the Force' comment for her portrayal of Master Brak'cha; high praise indeed.

His apprentice made a sour face that had nothing to do with the last berry he had eaten.

"Director Tykon is an artist," Qui-Gon explained. "He is driven by emotion because that is how he will win his battle. We will have to be diplomatic with him.

"The participation of a Venerate is always required for any History drama. And the Council has sent us to fulfill that role, in return for the remains of Darth Yarr's holocron; we will assist in their preparations and officiate at the performance. It is not our place to question their methods. Be mindful of that, my young Padawan."

"Yes, Master."

They finished their meal and Obi-Wan told him more about the problem with the simulated lightsabers, Tykon's reaction to them and the exercises with the performers. And the dancing and singing.

"Interesting," Qui-Gon noted. They only knew that the Play was about the defeat of Darth Yarr. The specific contents of it were to be kept secret until the performance, to enhance its mystique. Only the Creative Committee knew all the details. It included Director Tykon and three other artists, along with Sebo, the keeper of the Mystery to be revealed, and Custodian Tykon, the senior Venerate of Naardin Castle. As senior Jedi Venerate, Qui-Gon was to be a visiting member on the Committee as well; his status was special since the Jedi Order had a continuous history back to and far beyond the time of Darth Yarr. It was a great prize for the incoming Chancellor to have convinced he Jedi Council to send them.

He had expected to meet with the Creative Committee when they arrived, but lateness and illness intervened. The Jedi Council's only interest was in the remains of Yarr's holocron and Qui-Gon planned to cede any authority over the Play to the others. The contents of it did not matter to him, though he could not imagine how singing could be involved in a conflict with a Sith. He sympathized with Obi-Wan's confusion about that.

"You should go back now," he instructed as Obi-Wan took the empty tray.

He paused. "Will you need anything else?"

"I will be fine here. You should attend to our mission."

Obi-Wan hesitated, his eyes going toward an outer wall, and the balcony garden beyond.

"I will tell Sebo that you have left. Now go."

Nodding, Obi-Wan turned away. He went back to the eating area and put the tray on the table. Then he went to the lift and with one last look of farewell, descended and left.

Qui-Gon settled back into the pillows.

He still felt the dizziness, like an annoying insect buzzing beyond his reach. During the meal he had ignored it, an illusion that it had finally passed, but now alone, by himself, he knew that this had been self-deception. He closed his eyes.

* * *

**%% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %%**

* * *

Eyes on the two fighters, Director Tykon stalked up and down the lines of performers. While the others watched, Obi-Wan was paired with one of them. Tykon shouted for them to repeat the routine with the improved lightsticks.

A Jedi would never mistake them for real lightsabers, but they were about the right length and blue color, nearly as bright and made humming sounds that squealed in the right way when two of them connected.

Whack! Eee-Fwack! Whack! Eee-Fwack! Whack! Eee-Fwack! Whack! Eee-Fwack!

Obi-Wan paced the floor with the performer he currently worked with, a swift and skinny youth with dark hair. He had no trouble pacing or anticipating his opponent, but. . . . .

. . . . he had never sparred to music before.

Dah dah, DAH, dah-dah, DOO-dee-dah dee-dee.

Doo-doo, DAH-dee-dum DAH-dee doo-dee-DAH.

It wasn't sparring, really. It was dancing with lightsticks. Obi-Wan had memorized the short length of song, he had heard it so many times.

He strode up and down the floor with each performer while Tykon circled predatorily, only pausing to mutter closely held comments to his assistant. The terror of their Director's judgment kept all the performers intensely focused.

This was the audition for the part of Jedi Keth in the Play. Everyone participated. That was why they all wore the Keth costume. Tall, short, broad, thin, male, female. No physical attribute seemed to disqualify anyone for the part of Keth, only performance.

The short stretch of music, played by the keyboard musician, ended. Obi-Wan's partner sighed expansively and then his eyes went to Director Tykon who did not look up as he conferred with Pecku.

The next performer stepped up to take her turn while the other walked off. It was Yana Twarn, the woman who had spoken to him when he left to check on Qui-Gon. She had greeted him when he returned and offered to show him around the Castle later.

Now she stood breathing deeply, eyes closed, an exercise that all the performers used to calm their nervousness. The terror of failure in them never went away, but they controlled it. Most of the time. A couple had missed their steps and their Director's angry, derisive criticism had only compounded their fears. One had run away in tears.

Dah dah, DAH, dah-dah, DOO-dee-dah dee-dee.

Yana swung her saberstick back.

Whack! Eee-Fwack! Whack! Eee-Fwack! Whack! Eee-Fwack! Whack! Eee-Fwack!

Yana twirled and lunged.

Doo-doo, DAH-dee-dum DAH-dee doo-dee-DAH.

Whack! Eee-Fwack! Whack! Eee-Fwack! Whack! Eee-Fwack! Whack! Eee-Fwack!

She backed up to his advance, lunged back, her arm behind her for balance, and made side-by-side circles with the tip of her lightstick before the loop of music replayed. They repeated the routine before Yana stopped and sighed. She had finished without Tykon interrupting. Apparently, interruptions were bad and a sign that you were not likely to win the part of Jedi Keth in the Play. But there were already more than twenty people who had done as well, so Yana's chances for winning the part were still not good.

Giving him a wink and a wave, she left and the next performer stepped up. The remaining performers did their lightstick dance with no errors, including the last one, who had missed his steps and been shouted back to the end of the line. The one who had left crying had not returned.

"Break! That's all for today! Same time tomorrow morning! All parts will be announced together after all auditions!" Pecku shouted. The tension broke, leaving behind tired bodies and the smell of sweat in the air. The performers broke ranks and wandered off to chairs and benches by the walls. A few just sat down in place. Many of them cast hopeful glances toward their Director, but a tight-lipped Tykon ignored them and huddled with Pecku and another assistant over a portable data screen on a side table. The three holo recorders descended from where they had been circling for the audition.

Obi-Wan followed some of the other dancers, took his lightstick and put it into the standing box that Falgan had brought them out in. They were still working on the mechanism for retracting the blades. A squat, tan supply droid scanned each one and beeped.

Yana put her lightstick in the box after his. "Do you think it went well?"

"I don't really know," he answered truthfully. "I don't know anything about Plays or auditioning."

"I hope I did. I may not be the type they want for Keth, but it always helps to do well in all the auditions if you want to get a good part."

Two other performers, both a little taller than Obi-Wan, and much bigger than Yana, put their lightsticks in the box.

"Vererate Jedi Kenobi, this is Jutwa Eris." Yana touched the arm of a male with short blonde hair, pale skin and a square jaw, "and Timoz Wemi." She touched a woman with thick black hair, cut off at the shoulders and curved around her head. She had dark, tanned skin, though not as dark as Yana's.

"Hello." Obi-Wan bowed his head to each of them.

"We were all at the Mweweer Academy together," Yana explained, her arm around Jutwa's waist. Obi-Wan did not know what that was, so a pause opened up in the conversation. Timoz dove into it.

"You dance very well. Is that part of your training as a Jedi?"

"Um, not directly." Obi-Wan tried to think of any equivalence. "Some of the senior Masters have said that the training for fighting and dancing are similar, but I've never compared them myself. My Master said that the stage was a battlefield for you."

Timoz suddenly went stiff. "Yes! Dancing is a war to be won! You are fighting for more than your careers!" He raised his arm in mock triumph. "More than your lives! You are acting for your art! Your art IS your life! The immortality of your ancestors is depending on YOU!" This impromptu imitation of Director Tykon brought on a quick burst of giggles from the three friends, then sudden hushing as they looked over their shoulders. But the Director was striding off toward an exit with his assistants.

"Oooh, I hate the waiting," Yana complained. "That's almost as bad as not getting a good part."

"Well, you at least have a chance," Jutwa grumbled. "I already know that Mwemas doesn't like me for this part from the singing and acting auditions."

"There were other auditions?" That surprised Obi-Wan since the Maarzim had been so adamant about needing Jedi participating in the auditions. Why were they not need them for the earlier ones?

"Oh yes!" Yana looked equally surprised that he didn't already know. "Those were the elimination auditions. There were over five thousand of us at the beginning of those. But we're already in the Play. These are where we compete for which parts we'll have."

"And these are the first auditions where we're doing it in for _Tykon_." Timoz put equal parts of awe and horror in the Director's name.

"The auditions aren't over until Tykon, Mwemas and the others on the Creative Committee have their big meeting about all the Play roles," Yana assured him. "And they still want to know how well we understand the whole Play. That will count a lot for the parts we get."

"The History Play is a world unto itself, with all the parts touching and intertwining with all the other parts," Timoz said with elongated words and his lips puckered, followed by another round of giggles with the others. Obi-Wan supposed that this was perhaps an imitation of Mwemas or one of the other Play writers.

BLAM!

* * *

**= = = End Part 7**


	8. Chapter 8

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 8**

* * *

They all started and looked toward the platform being built at the far end of the great hall where a huge gray slab had just fallen. Some people yelled and a big yellow lifter droid backed away on its treads, beeping loudly as it went.

"What are they doing there? Is that the stage?" Obi-Wan wondered out loud.

"It's not any ordinary stage." Yana pointed. "It's for a History Play. They've got to do everything from scratch, in a place that hasn't been built for it. And it's not just the stage; they have to put in room for the orchestra. And because this space isn't designed for proper viewing, we're going to have a tilted stage with a grav adjustment. They've already got the generator there. And those boxes," she pointed to huge, tall boxes on either side of the construction area, "are for redesigning the acoustics. Otherwise, the reverb would kill us with these stone walls."

"It's not like working in a real theater, where you've got everything you need." Jutwa moved to Obi-Wan's other side. "But this happens a lot with History Plays. That's part of the challenge. You're not a real pro unless you've done the History Mystery tour."

"I'm just hoping for something better than singing in the background." Yana hugged herself. "I don't want to come all this way and end up just getting scraps."

"You call this scraps?" Timoz turned to her critically, "we're here, we're in and a lot of others didn't. Even if you get just one walk-on and one note."

"Oh, really? And what part do you think Twunar is going to get?"

Obi-Wan saw both Timoz and Jutwa flinch.

"Who is Twunar?"

"He's the one who ran off when he missed his steps," Yana said solemnly.

"And didn't come back," Jutwa finished, his green eyes serious, his square jaw set. "That's the worst. You've got to be tested for all the major parts. At least Judra took her turn again after Tykon chewed her out. But Twunar missed it. And this is only the first audition."

"Twunar didn't come back. Tykon will never take him for any of the other parts now. He's out." Yana shook her head.

"His uncle's the Director in one of the other Regions; he'll get a bit part there," Timoz's expression distorted with distaste. But Yana reacted with surprise.

"Not for this event. It's too big. This isn't just some dead king memorial. His uncle would never be a Director again if he let him in his Play after washing out here with Tykon."

Timoz remained skeptical, but they all seemed happy to drop the subject. Around them, nearly all the performers had left the hall, leaving only the stage work crew making random echoing bangs and machine noises.

Yana initiated a tour of the Castle for Obi-Wan and her friends with the pretense of looking for some good practice space for the next day's audition.

They had been auditioning in Tamwa Hall, the immense center of the Naardin Castle, named after the Lord who had built it, the Castle's first major addition since being built before the time of Darth Yarr. It would hold an audience of more than two thousand people for the performance. Around the perimeter were archways that led to the three wings, dubbed Mountain, Plain and Lake, named for the geographical features that they faced. They were all sprawling hallways, sub-levels and towers.

Performers had appropriated some of the rooms for their practicing for the next audition. Other rooms were occupied by the stage crew with noisy fabricating machines, or by costume and prop makers. Falgan gave them a cross look when they peered into his work area. There were no advanced droids at all, just simple work machines and binaries. The Castle was maintained and operated as it had been for thousands of years though they did have compact power generators and other conveniences in the lower levels.

All the Castle staff politely bowed to Obi-Wan and addressed him as Venerate as they offered him assistance or explained their duties. But they frowned toward the three performers with him without saying anything. Yana told him that all the cast and crew of the History Play were limited to their assigned living, practice and performing areas. But as a visiting Venerate, Obi-Wan (and anyone with him) could go nearly anywhere he liked. Timoz and Jutwa seemed to enjoy the extra privileges and never got around to finding a good place to practice.

The one place where they were not allowed to go were the music rooms. They heard the sound of the orchestra coming from a large room as someone exited from it. Two people by the door refused to let them them go in. One passing Castle staff member looked scandalized that they would deny Obi-Wan entry and promised to report them to her superiors, but the music techs held their ground. Not wanting to get anyone in trouble, he denied that there was any problem and withdrew quickly, his three companions following.

"Sssats, Mwemas and Aka must think they're running the whole production," Jutwa complained, his pale brows lowered. "It's not like we haven't had to memorize almost the whole score already."

"Didn't they write it?" Obi-Wan asked. He remembered the names from the mission briefing. Roobi Mwemas was the Music Director in charge of the orchestra and singing, Thwurn Aka was the Composer, along with Quembu Smetin who co-wrote the story and the lyrics; they and Director Tykon had worked on it for over a year. And they were the artistic representatives of the Committee in charge of the Play. Custodian Tykon, the Lady of the Tower and Qui-Gon were the Venerates of the History Play, with Director Tykon as head of the whole Committee.

"Well, yes, but they don't _own_ it. Not even Tykon owns it, but I guess, since Mwemas and Tykon were together for awhile, she thinks that _she's_ on his level." Yana snapped. Then she grimaced as if she wanted to take her words back. "Sorry, Venerate Jedi Obi-Wan, I didn't mean to speak so sharply. They just . . . well, they didn't have any right to keep you out. It's not like that's not a hidden door or anything and they're not working in any of the hallowed, sacred places here."

Obi-Wan was pretty sure that he was not the one who the music techs wanted to keep out, and he especially wanted to stay away from any conflicts about who was in charge. "I don't need to see any of that anyway. I'm not a musician." All three performers looked relieved that he was not offended thought they still gave the music rooms behind them some cross glances.

Continuing down a corridor, they turned a corner and entered a wide hallway with tall windows. He could see most of the Castle towers, including the one Qui-Gon now rested in, more than twice as tall as all the others. To change the subject, he asked what was in the other towers.

"Us!" Jutwa laughed, her cheerfulness immediately returning. The others joined in. With most of the Play cast and crew and the staff, the Castle was accomodating more than three times the number of people who usually stayed there. All the other towers had been converted to dormitory rooms, with sleeping cots and portable freshers everywhere. Even Custodian Tykon had two other members of her staff staying in her rooms.

"Its a good thing everyone is so tired at the end of the day or we'd be on each other's nerves a lot more than we are," Yana told him.

Obi-Wan was a little embarrassed to tell them how much space that he and Qui-Gon had in the tower apartment. They eagerly listened to anything he had to say about it. Almost no one except the Lady of the Tower went up there and she was known as some kind of holy hermit. Yana and her friends were even more impressed that he had actually met her.

"Maybe we could practice up there?" Timoz suggested, looking out a tall window up toward the tower apartment. Obi-Wan shook his head.

"We're the only ones allowed up there, other than the Castle staff. And besides, my Master is resting there now."

"Oh, no! We know we can't go up there. That _is_ a hallowed place," Yana laughed the suggestion off. "Going into any of the places that are off limits here could get us bounced from the Play, and besides, going up there would be sacrilege. Almost as bad as exposing the Mystery before the Play."

"There's no place I need to go in here for me to risk that," Jutwa agreed, "but we really need to get back to practicing the other parts." He sighed glumly. "I don't have a good feeling about Keth, but there's more than one part in this thing, and I'm going to get one." Some wordless expressions of determination passed between the three dancers. Yana turned her brown eyes to Obi-Wan.

"I'm sure you'll all do well." It was an empty statement, but he did not have a better way to respond to their earnest and naked ambition.

By the time they returned to the great hall, the Play crew droids were laying out tables and chairs for evening meal. The sun was low in the sky, the golden yellow light coming in from the tall windows. Yana invited him to sit and eat with them and practice with them later, but he excused himself to go up and check on Qui-Gon.

She and the others looked disappointed. "You couldn't come down later, for a little extra practice with us?"

He shook his head. "I don't think I can."

Yana's expression remained soured for a second before her smile returned. "I hope your Venerate Jedi Master is feeling better tomorrow."

"I think he will be. The healers were very aggressive." He frowned, remembering the treatment they had both gotten the night before. "They said they had to be, to keep the virus from spreading."

Yana, Timoz and Jutwa looked back at him with confounded expressions. "We heard he had food poisoning," Yana explained.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "They called it a serphrada virus. They had to give me a shot for it, too, so I wouldn't spread it." Mentally, he could still feel where Healer Zhenum had stuck the needle in."

Timoz gasped and Yana explained again. "We heard that they had serphrada in the Majwaru and the Poonkagree Lands, but we didn't know anyone in Naardin had it, too."

"The healers said that they wanted a quarantine," Obi-Wan told them. "They were very unhappy that they didn't get one after my Master became ill. Is it serious?"

"Well," Jutwa looked a little uncertain, "only if you get it. My father had it and it's not too bad if you get treated right away."

"Speak for yourself." Timoz's lip curled. "I've had it and it's awful."

"Then you don't have anything to worry about; you're immune," she shot back.

"That's not what we have to worry about," Yana spoke seriously. "If there's an epidemic; even a little one, they could cancel everything."

"They wouldn't!" Timoz denied, blue eyes wide. "They _can't_! With all the work they've put into it. And Tykon would never stand for it. They'd just delay things at worst."

Yana shook her head. "For how long? And if it's really bad, Mwetta could be blamed that they didn't stop it sooner; she could even lose her position." The three friends exchanged worried looks. At worst, their mission would only be a wasted trip for the Jedi. But he could sense their dread. They had worked so hard.

"You shouldn't worry." The three dancers looked at him. "If it happens, then we will all deal with it then. Fearing what will happen . . . " he paused, not sure if they would understand if he finished with 'leads to the Dark Side', " . . . will only make it worse," he finished, paraphrasing that common Jedi teaching.

Yana gave him a little bit of a smile and the tension lessened. "You're right. Worrying about the Play being canceled will just jinx the auditions for us if it isn't." The others agreed.

"See you tomorrow." Yana reached to hug him and then very obviously pulled back and he was not sure it was entirely because o his rank as a Venerate. The healer had told him that he wasn't contagious, but he understood her sudden reticence.

Obi-Wan watched them go for a moment, back to their friends gathering for the meal, laughing, hugging, chatting, before he turned to go up the stairs to the gallery and then up to the tower back to his Master.

* * *

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* * *

_The walls were closing in._

_Images of curved wooden struts and carved pillars glowed under his eyelids. Everywhere swirling lined patterns, and a light smoothness under his fingertips._

_He could not stay. It was killing him. Draining the life from him, minute by minute._

_But he had to stay. It was only thing he had left, the staying. The only thing that was him. His whole existence was staying in that place while time slid past._

Snip. Snip. Snip.

Qui-Gon's eyes opened.

The light had changed. The shadows had moved into late afternoon. He had slept most of the day.

He lifted his head from the pillow, pushed himself up on his elbows, threw back the clean coverings and swung his legs over the side to the floor, smooth and cool under his bare feet.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

Sebo was still in the garden, tending the plants. Or perhaps she had gone and come back.

He looked about and saw a dark brown lump with the rest of his things on the bench at the end of sleeping platform. He stood, extended his arms and stretched his whole body. The bones in his neck cracked; it felt very good. He went around to the bench, picked up his robe and put it on over the long plain tunic he wore.

He took a step.

No dizziness.

He took another.

No dizziness.

He breathed in deeply, looking for it, lurking somewhere, but he felt nothing other than his own suspicion that something so persistent would not vanish so easily. He shrugged, straightening his robe. If it was to return, it would. He would not anticipate it.

He found Sebo clipping withered leaves from the lower branches of a flowing tree in a big round pot by the outer railing of the balcony. Her hands moved nimbly, pulling out the yellow and brown leaves from the healthy ones and tucking them into a bag hung around her neck.

A path of planks ran between the lush plants on either side of the wide balcony. Looking down both sides of the curve that encircled the apartment, Qui-Gon saw well-tended fruit trees and boxes of orderly greens. Blossoms and fragrant herbs scented the air. Tiny lizards and slow, hovering insects darted among the leaves.

Sebo, her back still toward him moved on to a cluster of ferns, spilling out of a box at waist level. Beyond her, the foothills of the nearby mountain range rose up, snowy caps in the distance. The late afternoon light on them turned golden toward sunset. A light breeze pulled on the long, loose strands of Qui-Gon's hair.

He saw forested hills beyond two tall bushes. Going to the balcony, he looked down at the layout of a garden courtyards and the sloped gray roofs of the rest of the Castle below. There were a few dwellings scattered up among the trees in the foothills with most of a nearby town on the other side toward the plain and lake. There were other towers, but the largest of them was less than half as tall as the apartment's spire. Immediately below the balcony, rows of curving metalwork and spikes encircled the entire tower. Behind and above, Qui-Gon saw the same elaborate decoration crowning the roof of the apartment with one enormous spike rising from the center. A large bird flew overhead, crossing the blue sky. It dove down to the gardens below and he followed it. . . . .

Qui-Gon grabbed the railing tightly and locked his elbows, but he still felt as if he was falling forward. He remained frozen, conscious of his rigid body and the high, solid railing supporting him, but trapped by the swaying in his head. He closed his eyes.

"Qui-Gon. . . . ?"

* * *

**= = = End Part 8**


	9. Chapter 9

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 9**

* * *

Sebo had come up by his side. But she did not try to touch him.

He inhaled the air and the Force, deeply. He felt its strength through his connection to everything around him. It magnified his own energies many times. The living garden around him, the tower, the Castle, the people in them, the town beyond. The dizziness abated, but . . . .

. . . . not through his efforts. It was dying on its own. He let his head fall back and breathed until it was gone. He let go of the railing and stood back from it.

"Qui-Gon, are you well?"

He sighted. "Apparently not as well as I would have liked." He looked down at her. "But I am improving."

She nodded uncertainly, offered to show him the apartment's garden and he accepted.

They strolled together among the well maintained plants. Some were purely decorative but most served some function, food or a medicinal purpose. Among the plants, various worms, grubs and insects fed or were fed by the needs of the garden's ecology. Crawling and flying creatures came and went. Sebo did not like the tiny lizards. They were harmless, but they sometimes got into the apartment.

Along with plants there was a full set of surprisingly primitive tools and compost bins. Water came from rain and there were collectors on the roof next to rows of sun-energy collectors as well. The water could also be pumped up from below to a tank above the apartment in case of drought. Qui-Gon complimented her on the results and the balance of her work.

Qui-Gon looked at the brilliant sunset over the lake. The clouds and the snow on the mountains turned a deepening orange. The early evening breeze cooled his skin.

"Master?"

Startled, he whirled around, unhappy that his own apprentice returned without him noticing?

His hand gripped the railing, his arm rigid. The dizziness returned and for a moment he didn't know if he was falling forward or backward. But when his vision cleared he was still upright. Obi-Wan tightly clasped his other arm.

"Master? Are you well?"

He took a long, deep breath before answering. "Apparently not as well as I wished."

"Oh, but you are doing much better."

Qui-Gon found another surprise at his arm, Healer Mwassil. She barely came up to the center of his chest; somehow he had thought that she was taller. Going to his other side, she curved her arm around his, pulling him away from the railing so he had to steady himself on her and Obi-Wan.

"Other than dizziness, are you feeling unwell?"

Qui-Gon frowned down at her beaming face. "No. And the dizziness was momentary."

"Excellent," she replied back up at him. "Now, let's just get you inside." She led and Obi-Wan helped. By the time they sat him down on the sleeping platform he felt like he had regained his balance, but he had to lie down so Mwassil could scan him. She hummed a few tuneless notes as she passed her instrument over him. Obi-Wan peered around her, trying to read the display.

"Oh you are doing wonderfully," Mwassil exclaimed with bubbly enthusiasm. She patted his stomach and he resisted the impulse to seize her wrist and pinch a nerve. "You must be very healthy under normal circumstances."

"Yes." He gave her a glare that made Obi-Wan flinch, but she was quite immune to it.

"Of course you are. Now Obi-Wan here has told me that you ate at midday. Have we had any snackies since then?"

"No."

"Well, we're just going to have to get you something. Something easy and gentle." Healer Mwassil patted him on the stomach and bustled off, taking Obi-Wan with her to the food prep area.

Standing by the window, Sebo remained, watching him. He could see her out of the corner of his eye. He was lying in her bed. The bed she had slept in as the living embodiment of the woman of the tower for how many years?

Sebo started to move off. Qui-Gon turned his head on the pillow toward her.

"How long have you served as the Lady of the Tower?"

She looked surprised that he had spoken.

"Over half my life."

"Indeed," he answered thoughtfully. "It seems a high price to pay for your service to the History of your world."

"No more that yours." She clasped her hands before her, her expression calm.

He sighed. They had each devoted their lives to their own callings.

"Tell, me Sebo . . . . why was the Lady of the Tower imprisoned here?"

* * *

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* * *

"Here."

Obi-Wan looked up at the mirrored hemisphere over the floor covering the lift.

"Anyone entering can see the whole room. This area is clear of any obstructions. So, the danger from ambush has been minimized. And the eating area," Qui-Gon pointed and led his apprentice over to the alcove of cabinets and counters. "All the provisions are finger foods, vegetables, fruits, grains, nuts. Nothing that requires any sturdy utensils or cutters, nothing that can be easily made into an effective weapon." Qui-Gon pulled out a sliding compartment and Obi-Wan peered down at the scatter of wooden and plastoid rods and shapes. Then he looked over his shoulder back at the portable food preparers and cold storage unit, a stand of shiny utensils next to it.

"What about these?" he asked, looking up at his Master, who shook his head.

"Those were brought in specially for us." Qui-Gon put his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder and led him out of the alcove, past the table with the remains of their evening meal still on it. They went out to the garden. Obi-Wan tugged his robe a little closer to him and looked carefully at his Master for any more signs of illness.

Qui-Gon picked up a digging implement from a bin. It was all wood and bone, bound with natural twine, simple and primitive. Much more primitive than the technology of the era that Sebo adhered to. Obi-Wan took out a simple clawed tool for turning soil and examined its smooth, carved prongs, stained with soil. The produce of the garden was sufficient to sustain a single occupant who tended it, minimizing the need for anyone to come or go along with the risk of escape. The tower apartment was not only a prison, it was exile.

The night breeze was brisk and it carried the scent of the trees from the nearby mountain, a tblack shape against a slightly less black sky. The lights of the rest of the Castle glowed below, some pointing upward. Yellow, white and pink town lights sprinkled the slopes below with a few scattered in the foothils. Everywhere else was dark, only faintly illuminated by the bluish white glow of the planet's smaller moons and sparse twinkling stars. The body of the galactic core, obscured by clouds of stellar dust, was not visible in the Outer Rim skies of Maarzim.

"Here." Qui-Gon pointed and Obi-Wan peered over the high railing of the balcony garden, between two potted trees. "The spikes and statuary immediately below would make climbing down difficult and slow, and if anyone fell, fatal. And even if an occupant of this tower were to try, this tower is visible to all parts of the Castle. No one could try to escape without being seen."

"Some of the performers took me on a tour during a break in their training. This tower was visible through all the parts of the Castle that I saw," Obi-Wan said, looking surprised that he had just realized this.

"Indeed." Qui-Gon folded his arms before him through the opposite sleeves of his robe. The night was cooling. He led his apprentice inside again, sliding the manual door closed behind them.

"But why would Sebo react so badly to your question?" Obi-Wan asked, still confused. "Surely it is known who was kept prisoner here and why?"

"Surely it is not, my young apprentice," Qui-Gon answered with a smile. "Sebo is sworn to preserve the Mystery of the person whose life she has assumed. That is part of the purpose of the Living History Lands. The Maarzim believe that they must keep their past alive if they are to have a future. And one way of doing that is preserving the secrets of their past through the acolytes who live it."

His apprentice looked thoughtful. "And revealing their secrets in a Play with song and dance?"

He smiled. "A ritual celebration. But whatever it is, the secrets of the Lady of the Tower and Darth Yarr are unlikely to be of any consequence to us." He lowered his brows. If there was some secret about how Darth Yarr fell, that could be of interest to the Jedi, though he doubted that it would be useful, having happened so long ago. And the Sith had been extinct for nearly a thousand years. Obi-Wan's next questions interrupted his private speculation.

"Master, why would they want to keep secrets about their past?"

He smiled. "Hidden knowledge is always more desirable. And because they enjoy it." Qui-Gon extended a hand to open space in the apartment. They would exercise and meditate before retiring. And perhaps he would be able to think of some way to explain a Mystery to Obi-Wan.

Or perhaps not.

* * *

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* * *

Obi-Wan had woken at dawn, and found his Master already up and exercising. To his relief, the illness seemed to have completely gone. Healer Mwassil showed up as they finished eating and beamed at their good health as she passed her scanners over them. But when she pulled out one of her swabs, Qui-Gon seized her wrist, making her jump. He politely took the swab, put it up his own nose and then presented it to her.

"Well, I suppose that will do." She popped it into a sample bottle and it disappeared into her case. Smiling, she politely hoped that she would not need to see them again. The forecast epidemic had not emerged with only a few new cases in the other Living History Lands, but the Healers were gathering for a special meeting with the new Chancellor to demand the quarantine they wanted.

"We will get it," she assured them as the lift took her down."

Qui-Gon nodded with a shrug. "I'm sure they will do their best." They got up and cleaned the leavings from their morning and then after getting their robes, left as well. At his Master's invitation, Obi-Wan preceded him down the long spiral stairway of the tower.

Finally at the bottom of the stairs, Obi-Wan touched the door control and glanced over his shoulder. Qui-Gon nodded for him to continue. There was no one in the gray upper hallways, adorned with only a few simple tapestries of geometric shapes in dull colors. They descended the stairway that led to the gallery. At the bottom of it they saw. . . . Darth Yarr.

It was actually a tall male, dressed as Darth Yarr. Apparently one of the performers. He paced back and forth, silently rehearsing motions, lunging steps, outstretched arms and turns. He took one last turn and froze, seeing the two Jedi watching him.

As far as Obi-Wan could tell, the costume was accurate. Sith Lords of that era had dressed as flamboyantly as Republic senators. Yarr wore black clothes with a line of red triangle shapes running down the sides of the pants and sleeves, a red body sash, black belt and tall black boots. The red triangles ran down the edges of the overlapping tunic front. There was black and red shoulder and forearm armor over the sleeves and a mask that covered the whole face, half white, half black, with large triangles of contrasting colors on the cheeks. The red triangle on the black left side pointed down. The black triangle on the white side pointed up.

Yarr had also been female. Except for that detail, this male dancer recreated the Sith Lord very well.

He backed up a pace away from them, hastily bowed and fled down the length of the gallery to the stairs leading below.

Qui-Gon raised his brows. Together, they went to the gallery and looked down into the Castle's main hall. It was full of Darth Yarrs. At the other end of Tamwa Hall, the builders and droids had completed a tilted black stage and busily unloaded equipment from room-sized open crates. They made curiously little sound as they worked, possibly because of the faint and hazy red field wall emanating from a line of tall black posts that separated their end of the hall.

Master and apprentice went to the stairs leading down to the floor of the hall.

There were Darth Yarrs standing, sitting, exercising, chatting in groups, lying down. And more coming in through the doors. But every time they turned around and saw the Jedi they would hastily back away and find some other place to go. Obi-Wan looked for Yana or Jutwa or Timoz, but it was impossible to be sure of who was who with the masks.

Someone called out from the center of the room. It was Pecku, announcing the day of the audition for Darth Yarr.

Qui-Gon led the way through the crowd to a group of Castle Custodians, technicians and Director Tykon. The volatile director, dressed in bright blue leggings and green and white striped sleeveless shirt, turned around and saw him.

"Finally!" He marched up to Qui-Gon, his face less than a hand's length away from the Jedi Master. They were the same height.

Obi-Wan saw his Master lean back away slightly, as if in the stiff breeze of Tykon's scrutiny, his eyes widening. But he quickly recovered and even leaned slightly toward the Director, who did not back away.

"If you were one of my thesps, I would have thrown you out for missing a primary audition, but since the Chancellor wants authentic Jedi Venerates to be part of this, then I hope you can make yourself useful for the remaining ones."

Qui-Gon's expression turned neutral. "We come to serve." He did not give the customary bow that went with that salutation.

Tykon reluctantly broke eye contact first to whirl around to his assistant. "Pekku! Get them lined up!"

Both Jedi watched Pecku and two other Play assistants herd fifty Darth Yarrs into place. A couple came in running from other rooms, hastily adjusting their masks. Finally they had five rows of ten Darth Yarrs each. Tykon paced in front of them.

"This is the audition for the second major part of this History drama. ANY of you who thinks that Darth Yarr is the villain in the story can leave this company right now! Darth Yarr is a leader who commands the loyalty of thousands. She is fast. She is powerful. And she is loved by her subjects and she knows it! If you do not know this to the core or your being I promise you I will see it in your performance!"

A few of the Darth Yarrs visibly shrank back from Tykon's threat, but most of them remained grimly stoic, their shoulders tense and determined, their masks covering up their unease. They were like a troop of soldiers anticipating a skirmish.

"Now, since Venerate Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn has finally presented himself, we can begin. Pekku!"

Pekku came running up with two lightsticks. He handed the red one to Tykon and kept the blue for himself. Tykon smoothly twirled the glowing red stick in exactly the same why Obi-Wan had done the day before, which surprised the young apprentice. He had not seen the drama Director do anything more than demonstrate some of the dance moves.

"We will be auditioning the climactic battle between Yarr and Keth, with you performing the part of Yarr. Like this!"

Immediately Director and assistant assumed fighting positions.

Whack! Eee-Fwack! Whack! Eee-Fwack! Whack! Eee-Fwack! Whack! Eee-Fwack!

Both of them 'fought' with fast and wildly exaggerated moves that left their bodies open to obvious attacks. Pecku backed up while Tykon advanced. The rows of Darth Yarr's watched attentively.

"Now!" Tykon broke contact with Pecku's lightstick and he snapped the extendible blade back into its hilt. "I want you two Jedi to show everyone here how you move in a fight like this, so we can top off the choreography."

With a bemused expression, Qui-Gon inclined his head to the Director. He let his robe fall from his shoulders, caught it and tossed it away. A second later Obi-Wan's robe followed it. Then he faced his apprentice, unclipped his lightsaber and Obi-Wan did the same.

"You will attack," Qui-Gon instructed. They ignited their sabers, holding them up vertically in a brief salute.

"PEKKU!"

Their sabers went out. Qui-Gon turned an annoyed glare at Tykon.

* * *

**= = = End Part 9**


	10. Chapter 10

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 10**

* * *

"No! Keep that on!" Tykon shouted. He pointed and shouted louder when Qui-Gon just stared back.

"Turn that sssats thing back on!"

Pekku already had his com out. "Falgan's on his way."

Qui-Gon ignited his saber again. Tykon glared at it.

Soon the stout man in loose tan clothes came hurrying in. His shirt had a huge purple stain down the front. Tykon pointed an accusing finger at Qui-Gon's lightsaber.

"Look at that!"

"Oh." Falgan put his hand to his mouth. "I didn't know they came in that color."

"Did you look at those holos AT ALL?" Tykon threw his hands up. "Do you know how much time we wasted arguing about the colors of these things?"

"Well, which one is going to have the green one?"

"Actually, both Minigan and Keth carried blue lightsaber blades," Qui-Gon told them. But he only got an apologetic glance from Pecku. Completely ignoring the Jedi, Tykon decreed that Minigan would carry a green lightsaber for esthetic reasons and to distinguish him from Keth for the audience. Falgan left to take care of it.

"Now," Tykon turned back to Qui-Gon, "show me what you two can do."

Sighing, Qui-Gon again turned back to Obi-Wan, who took his position and saluted again.

At first Qui-Gon backed up as he parried. Obi-Wan felt the Force, his lightsaber acting as an extension of his arm. Since this was only a sparring match, he had no intention of striking Qui-Gon. No boundary line had been set; the goal was to either drive his opponent into an unwinnable position, or disarm without any body contact with the blade.

Swinging in a horizontal arc, Obi-Wan lunged long when his Master suddenly hopped back two steps.

FFFFffffffffffzzzzzzkkkkkkkkk! Thak-a-tak!

Obi-Wan's saber clacked on the stone floor under the powerful blow from Qui-Gon, delivered at the base of his blade. Flexing his fingers from the shock, he shook his arm. Tychon started pacing around them.

Qui-Gon lunged back in a defensive stance, his saber held high and pointed at him. Exhaling, Obi-Wan spread his fingers, palm out to his fallen saber, a Force impression of it warmed his hand and then it was there, the sting and numbness vanishing immediately.

He swung low, but Qui-Gon blocked his blade, diverting it high. Then the taller man twirled, quickly getting behind him. Obi-Wan felt a light slap from the back of Qui-Gon's hand on his face, an unsubtle warning about where he had left an opening in his defense. Then he flipped his blade up and back, a simultaneous jab and block. He did not lose his saber again when Qui-Gon struck the base of his blade again.

Ducking back and to the side, he slashed back across Qui-Gon's middle and then up, aiming to place his blade under his Master's chin. But Qui-Gon flowed like water in the Force around him. He got another slap, this time on his buttocks, when his Master passed behind him.

He lunged repeatedly, but did not let Qui-Gon lure him into getting off-balance. Only the tips of their sabers engaged. Qui-Gon used his greater arm length to keep him back. His only hope of success was to get inside his defenses, but as he swung and thrust with his saber, no possible dash forward, no forward attack felt right; his focus settled on keeping Qui-Gon from counter-attacking.

The next time Qui-Gon closed with him, there was no hand slap.

The crowd watched. Obi-Wan knew his whole attention should remain on the sparring, but they were an unavoidable presence in the Force. Tykon continued pacing, coming out from behind Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon's eyes flicked back toward the Director.

Obi-Wan lunged forward.

His swing stopped, halfway to its target, the glowing blue blade held high in a frozen attack. Qui-Gon's blade was down. It vanished and he stood, no longer in a fighting stance. He had disengaged, his gaze now turned to Tykon. Obi-Wan deactivated his saber.

Tykon scowled. "Keep going!"

Qui-Gon clipped his saber to his belt. "I believe that it would be best if you observed us from a greater distance."

Tykon let out a big, dramatic sigh. "I realize that you have been unwell. And that you arrived late." He spit out 'late' as he took a step forward, his eyes locked on Qui-Gon. "But we really don't have time for you to catch up.

Qui-Gon remaine silent, facing off against him.

"On this production," Tykon lectured, "we have over fifty thesps, a full orchestra of eighty-five, a stage gang of thirty-three, plus a technical crew of twenty-four, twenty-seven body decorators, eighteen fabricators, a creative Committee of seven, three assistant directors. And one," he held up a definitive finger, "Director." The finger pointed backward. "That would be me. With all that and with us already behind schedule, I don't have time for any extra privileges or Venerate niceties; I just need you to do what I tell you. No more, no less," he finished, his face less than an arms length from Qui-Gon.

Cringing, Obi-wan watched his Master's expression go increasingly cold as Tykon recited all that he was in charge of. For reasons that Obi-Wan did not understand, Qui-Gon was silently challenging the Director, whose small army of Darth Yarrs watched, tense and fearful. Qui-Gon gave Tykon no response at all, his face immobile.

Apparently satisfied that he had established his authority, Tykon stepped back. His arm shot out from his side.

"Thwurn! Saber prop!"

An energetic woman in crisp, clean tan clothes and shoulder length straight brown hair, trotted up, tossed Tykon one of their lightsticks and withdrew. Tykon caught it easily and flicked the glowing rod out. This one was red, apparently the type of prop that the Sith performers would be using.

"Now, your demonstration has been helpful. Clearly we need to add some things to the choreography. I am going to attack and then you will show me your response." He waved an arm toward the Yarrs. "This will be from the top of Scene 3 and then the middle of Scene 11. I expect you to all know these steps because now you're going to have to pay careful attention to the changes." He waved the lightstick at Qui-Gon.

"Now - - - "

FFFFfffffffffffffzzzzzzaaaakkkkkkkkk! Thak!

Qui-Gon's lightsaber flashed bright green and went out.

Gray and dark, the pole of the red lightstick rolled away from Tykon's feet. The end, still in his hand, sparked and went dead.

Qui-Gon clipped his lightsaber back onto his belt.

Obi-Wan grit his teeth.

Mouth gaping in undisguised surprise, Tykon looked up from the destroyed prop to Qui-Gon. He then kicked the stick away toward the Yarrs and threw the other end after it. The Yarrs ducked.

"That," he said angrily as he again placed himself oppressively close to the Jedi Master, "was not what I asked for."

Looking intentionally bored, Qui-Gon said nothing.

"Thwurn! Two saber props!"

Again, the brown-haired woman trotted up with new lightsticks. Tykon took one and activated it, backed up and whipped it around in a rapid swirl. Qui-Gon accepted his with some disdain. He activated the lightstick. This one was blue.

"Now," Tykon lunged back, low and graceful, his red, glowing stick held up in a vertical salute, "I will attack and you will defend." He swept his stick back, arm out in front of him for balance. His stick swung high and down.

Qui-Gon blocked it.

Tykon twirled and cut a horizontal arc in the air, the simulated blade making a faint whistle in the air with its electronic hum.

Qui-Gon quickly stepped forward, grasping Tykon's wrist with one hand, and bringing his own stick hard up under the Director's chin with the other. Tykon's hand twitched under the Jedi's grasp and his prop fell to the ground.

"Aaaaauugghh!" Going up on his toes, Tykon choked. The stick under his chin pushed his head back.

Qui-Gon released him.

Stumbling back and rubbing his neck, Tykon glared. "That was NOT what I asked for!"

"My apologies. Perhaps you have different definitions for 'attack' and 'defend'?"

Exhaling through clinched teeth, the Director again closed on Obi-Wan's Master. "We don't have time for these games."

"I agree," Qui-Gon answered, folding his arms before him. "So, if you can tell me exactly what you are trying to accomplish, then perhaps I can help you."

Tykon stepped toward Qui-Gon, leaning forward into his space. But Qui-Gon didn't budge.

"Can you _dance_?" he demanded through tight lips.

Obi-Wan saw his Master's dark blue eyes widen in surprise.

His expression triumphant, Tykon swiftly backed up. He raised his arm. "Pecku, music! After the song, Scene 5!" Then he waved a warning to the Yarrs. "Pay attention!"

The music started.

Tykon suddenly leapt to attention and flourished his lightstick before him in a salute. He held perfectly still through a pause in the music and lept forward in a wide attack as soon as the beat began.

Obi-Wan could not imagine anyone fighting like that, but Tykon's body seemed to be set free. He swung the stick out in beautiful, wide arcs, his coordination and precise stieps in perfect unison with the music. Swing, step, step, step, twirl, lunge, slash, slash. Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes at the performance and walked in the same direction. Tykon stopped at another pause in the music, twirled around when it started again with a spinning, rising tone.

Qui-Gon twirled with him.

Step, lunge, slash, twirl, kick, step, step, step, step.

Obi-Wan hastily backed away. His Master anticipated every one of Tykon's movements. Kick, slash, back-slash, twirl, step, slash, slash. Where the Director's body was fluid, his body like an instrument played to the music, Qui-Gon was just quick and powerful. His movements did not have the same effortless flow as the Director, but he matched every motion the Director made, down to the finger gestures.

Tykon's eye briefly widened in surprise, but he kept up the pace. His expression hardened, as if he really was in a fight, while Qui-Gon's face was calm, his movements guided totally by the Force.

It was a game that younglings learned in the Jedi Temple. One person moved while the second person mirrored what first one did as they did it. But while Obi-Wan needed to prepare and concentrate to do it for fighting moves, Qui-Gon mirrored Tykon's dance with serene detachment and the practiced ease and focus of a Jedi Master immersed in the Force.

Step, slash, step, slash, step, slash. Tykon lept into the air and posed, his arms out with angry determination, but Qui-Gon followed every movement like a shadow.

Turn, twirl, step, twirl, step, slash, slash, slash, step, turn, twirl, leap - -

Obi-Wan gasped.

Qui-Gon's turned too far in the air, landing with his foot bent under him. He hit the ground hard on his shoulder. Tykon stopped in mid-stride, eyes wide in shock. He reached Qui-Gon before Obi-Wan did.

"Pecku!"

"I've signaled the healers!"

"I don't want a nose-wiping healer! I was a floater up from that med-center they've got down below! Right now!" He laid a firm hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder. "Don't get up! I've seen careers ended on falls less than that. They've got a real med-center and droids in the lower levels of this place."

Obi-Wan knelt on Qui-Gon's other side. His Master looked more surprised by Tykon's sudden change in attitude than hurt. He stayed down. The Yarrs advanced warily, but kept a respectful distance from their Director who demanded that Qui-Gon demonstrate that he could move his hands and feet. Then he ordered Obi-Wan to take his Master's boots off. With Qui-Gon's wordless consent, Obi-Wan unbuckled them and slid them off.

By the time he was finished, Pecku had a medical floater and two Castle staff to help ease Qui-Gon onto it. Qui-Gon looked up at Tykon with amusement.

"It would appear that I cannot dance after all."

Tykon scowled. "You can dance all right." He crossed his arms. "Just don't give up your day job."

* * *

**= = = End Part 10**


	11. Chapter 11

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 11**

* * *

"I do not see any significant injury," Ee-Ee-Seven announced in its calm feminine tone. "However, I do detect some lingering symptoms of your serphrada infection. You should be wary of it for the next two days."

"I shall." Qui-Gon nodded and pushed himself off the examination table. Ee-Ee-Seven, a medical droid as efficient and well-programmed as any that might be found in the Jedi Temple, inclined its sleek angular head and withdrew. They were in the concealed medical center of the Naardin Castle, a modern anachronism that served it and the nearby town if historical methods were insufficient. While he was being examined by Ee-Ee-Seven, Healer Zhenum had stopped by, smirked at Obi-Wan and commented that he'd gotten his medical droid after all.

Qui-Gon straightened and inhaled a few long, deep breaths. The sudden dizziness that had caught him by surprise was gone, but it was just declining and dormant. Instead of grasping for balance this time, he had simply fallen, letting the Force absorb the impact.

Opening his eyes, he found Obi-Wan looking up at him. Qui-Gon held his arm out to the door.

"Shall we go?"

They left the small, but well equipped med-center in the lower levels of the Castle. A wooden door slid shut behind them. There was a medical symbol on it, but otherwise the entrance was flush with the wood wall paneling.

"Why would they wish to conceal their med-center down here? If someone were seriously injured, there could be a delay in getting them medical attention."

"It is the price they pay for their attention to historical detail, Obi-Wan." They climbed up a stone stairway. "They did not have medical droids available in the Naardin Castle's era." He sensed his Padawan's disapproval, but did not admonish him for it. At only sixteen, experience would have to teach him that one had to accept that people made their own choices.

At the top of the stairs, Obi-Wan led the way back to Tamwa Hall. He had made friends with some of the performers and they had shown him around the day before. But he slowed as they approached.

"Master," Obi-Wan lowered his eyes before looking up again. "Is it necessary to be so . . . confrontational with Director Tykon? As the Director pointed out, he is in charge. We are already late and it can only make our part in this more difficult."

Qui-Gon frowned. But he had to admit to himself that his Padawan had clearly warned him about Director Tykon's behavior, and yet he had still been taken aback by it. He folded his arms before answering. "No. It is not necessary. However, our mission is only to assist in his production. We are not under his authority; that was made clear at the briefing back at the Temple," he reminded. "And Director Tykon obviously only responds to actions, not words." He looked down at his Padawan speculatively. "You did sense Director Tykon's anger, did you not?"

"Yes, Master."

"Did you sense its source?"

After a moment of intense thought, Obi-Wan shook his head.

"It comes from the most common source of much anger. Fear."

"What is he afraid of?"

Qui-Gon gazed over Obi-Wan's head toward Tamwa Hall. "He is unhappy with his Play and very afraid that he will not succeed with it. He believes that if he tightens his control over all parts of it, and drives it to be the best it can be, he may yet succeed." He sighed. "But he is convinced that it is not enough. He is afraid of that and it makes him angry. And he is spreading his fear to his performers who are competing against each other and already fearful for their own success."

"Do you sense what is wrong with the Play?" Obi-Wan asked with wide-eyed interest.

"No." He shrugged. "I have no idea. The artistic merits of this History Play are not our concern. But we would do no service to it by giving in to Director Tykon's tantrums. Or his fear."

Among the performers and crew of the holo-drama that he had been assigned to assist so many years ago, there had also been a lot of fear. They worried over their scenes, their clothes, their bodies, their voices. In constant tension, they bragged about old projects that they worked on and fictional new ones they expected to do. Whether they were happy or sad, or trying to get their serious Jedi advisor to laugh (and succeeding a few times), they were always performing, always lying and always afraid that whatever they were doing would not work. Even Roetee Zhazem, elderly, at the end of a successful career and confident that she would always be loved and admired, was at least partially driven by a deeply ingrained fear of failure and rejection.

A smile quirked at the corners of Obi-Wan's mouth as they continued back to the main hall. They heard the music, a quick tune from a single keyboard player, as they approached and stepped out from the darkened corridor to the daylit hall, blue sky showing through the its windows.

Director Tykon had arranged all the Yarrs into a large group performance, some standing in place, some waving their arms to the music, some prancing and twirling to music.

* * *

**We all love the Sith**

** We will always be**

** Grateful for your charity**

** It's you we all are with**

** For all eternity**

** You're our only diety**

* * *

Qui-Gon paused and raised his brows. It was a very pretty tune, energetically sung by the chorus, but the lyrics were a bit disquieting. He supposed that this part came early in the Play, before Yarr was defeated. A special recording of the final performance was to be sent to the Jedi Council and he wondered what their reactions would be.

His sixteen year-old Padawan stared with open-mouthed surprise. At his age, Obi-Wan would have only a limited education about Sith, which was only sensible to discourage the young from seeking out tempting, but dangerous knowledge. And since no Sith had been seen by any Jedi since their defeat nearly a thousand years ago they would have no practical experience with tham at all. That left younger Padawans like Obi-Wan a bit naïve about just how broad some different points of view could be about the Dark Side.

Pecku ran up to them, a flat comp-screen in his hand.

"Director Tykon thinks that it would be better if you worked more closely with me and Eris Mwat, our other assistant director." He pointed toward an unshaven man with frazzled dark hair in loose tan clothes. Pecku raised his arm, getting Mwat''s attention. He ran a hand over his thick, unkempt hair as he jogged up to them; Pecku introduced them and left.

Mwat rubbed his hands together nervously. "Ah, well, we're not quite ready for the Darth Yarr auditions yet," he looked behind him at the dancing Yarrs, obviously hoping that they were ready, "so, maybe we can . . . uh . . . "

"Perhaps you could show us the stage area and where we will participate in the play?" Qui-Gon politely suggested.

"Ahh!" Mwatt raised a hand with a big grin. "Excellent suggestion!" He led them around the practice area down to the far end of Tamwa Hall to where the stage was being constructed. They stopped at one of a number of new sound suppressor field posts where Mwatt touched a yellow control on it. A square portal opened and work noise, voices, banging and machinery squeals came out. They went inside, the door closing behind them. The workers there only glanced their way as they continued their tasks around and under the huge stage platform, dragging long cables, putting together technic components and inserting them into recesses in and around the stage.

Mwatt led them to a holo-table. On it glowed an image of the completed performance space. The outline of Tamwa Hall glowed pale yellow with the stage, orchestra area, seating areas in various shades of green and blue. The assistant director pointed out the different main areas before pointing to several towers along the sides of the Hall.

"And here," the towers lit up under Mwatt's fingers. "Are where you'll sit for the Play." The circular platforms at the top of the towers had tiny seats on them. "You'll enter after the general audience with the Venerates of the Castle and the other honored guests and you will be introduced before them, before the Play starts." He made a negative gesture with his hands. "You won't have to say anything, just bow, or whatever Jedi do. We'll work out the details before the final rehersals."

Qui-Gon nodded. "Will there be any intermissions?"

Mwatt held up one finger. "One. In the middle. We're still working out the details of what facilities you'll be using, but the Venerates and honored guests will have exclusive use of their own freshers and consumables."

"And after the performance?"

"The party starts right after the final accolades. Right after. The house lights go down to total black and then up to the party. It's tradition. Since you're from off-world we can't insist that you stay, but it would be nice if you could . . ." Mwatt seemed afraid to ask them to go to the party.

"We will be honored to attend," Qui-Gon assured him.

Mwatt's hip bleeped and he took out a com unit.

"Where the sssats are those Jedi?!"

Tykon's complaint came out of the com loud enough to make some of the stage technicians nearby chuckle.

"Aaah, sounds like they need you again," Mwatt quickly led them back out of the stage area to where the Yarrs were practicing. Pecku hurried to meet them, pointing where they should stand, a certain disatance away from where the Director impatiently waited with five rows of Yarrs at attention behind him.

"Now, watch us," Tykon commanded. He took up a ready stance with a red lightstick, Pecku with a blue one.

Whack-whack! Eeeee-Fwack-whack! Whack-whack-whack! Eee-Fwack! Whack! Eeeeee-Fwack-whack-whack-whack! Whack! Fwack!

Lightstick whirling, Pecku attacked with a yell and a wild frenzy of blows, driving Tykon back a few paces before he parried, whirled and struck back. Their movements were fast and fluid, but otherwise it was truly awful fighting. Qui-Gon reminded himself that it was really dancing, even if it was done with pretend-lightsabers.

They finished, both retracting their lightsticks. Tykon pointed the stub of his at Qui-Gon.

"Now, show us that, or however you would do it."

Qui-Gon sighed. Tykon was no less intense, but he sensed that the Director had re-focused his aggression elsewhere. Unclipping his lightsaber, he turned to Obi-Wan. "You will attack, I will defend."

His Padawan nodded, unclipped his own weapon and stepped back. His arm swept upward, the blade igniting as he rushed forward. Qui-Gon evaded, backing up three steps before spining around and blocking the attack. They exchanged several more blows before Qui-Gon stepped back, ending the display, their lightsabers hissing off. Qui-Gon silently looked toward Tykon who paced at a respectful distance.

"Do it again, but make it different this time." He turned to the attentive rows of Yarrs. "Watch carefully!"

It seemed that if Tykon did not say anything about how they changed it, then presumably it was not important. Qui-Gon nodded to Obi-Wan and activated his lightsaber again. This time he did not back up to the attack; he blocked and dove to the side and forward so they switched places. They broke off after several more blows.

"Again!" Tykon commanded.

After the third attack, the Director allowed the Yarrs to form a circle, so they could all get a good view (from a safe distance) while Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan spared. Then Tykon paired off the Yarrs to imitate them; he loudly praised a few while shouting abuse at others, sometimes taking away their lightsticks and smacking them. After eight more attacks, the Castle staff was setting up the tables and chairs for midday repast. Pecku yelled out for a break.

Immediately, most of the Darth Yarrs pushed their masks back, revealing their relief. Clipping their lightsabers to their belts, the two Jedi watched Pecku and Tykon conferring over a potable comp unit on a side table, the holo-recorders descending down to them. A woman in a shapeless green poncho and gray pants, her hair a mass of blond curls trailing down her back, joined them.

Most of the dancers were getting touch ups and minor repairs to their costumes by the team of body techs - - apparently, the Darth Yarr costume required some maintenance - - so the food line was relatively short when Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan got in it. There was hot stew, chopped fresh vegatables and leaves, a fruit and nut salad and crusty grain flats. They got their meals along with water, and took their trays to an end of one of the long tables.

They ate in silence, but Obi-Wan kept looking over his shoulder, presumably for the friends who had shown him around the Castle yesterday. Qui-Gon contemplatively chewed as he scanned the enormous hall. Eight thousand years ago, this Castle fortress had been the site of a Sith Lord's fall. Now, that was all History.

Obi-Wan's watchfulness was finally rewarded when three of the dancers approached, still dressed in Darth Yarr's black and red, but with their masks hanging from straps as they carried their food trays.

"Good day, Venerate Jedi Obi-Wan," the smallest one of the three greeted them. Obi-Wan introduced her, Yana Twarn, and her friends, Jutwa Eris and Timoz Wemi. They lowered their eyes as Obi-Wan introduced him to them, as if they were embarrassed to be noticed. Twarn sat next to Obi-Wan, but not too close. The others sat next to her, furthest away from him. Nobody else sat near them, though glances kept darting their way from the other tables.

"I hope you are feeling well, today. We are honored to meet you," Twarn said with well-rehearsed pleasantness, though she was all fearful nerves underneath. She was nearly monotone in color, brown skin with short hair only a few shades darker.

With a neutral smile, he inclined his head back to her. "Yes, I am quite recovered, thank-you."

Emboldened, she lowered her head and plowed on. "You danced very well; I think Director Tykon was especially surprised. Pleasantly so, I mean," she hurriedly added.

Qui-Gon knew that he had thoroughly irritated Tykon by challenging his absolute authority and he doubted that she was foolish enough to believe otherwise. She was just stating it politely. He nodded again. "Thank-you."

He ate, breaking and dipping crusty bread and crisp green vegetable sticks into the brown, savory stew.

"Do you think you did well in the practice?" Obi-Wan asked the three next to him.

"It's really hard to see in those masks," the young man grumbled. "I kept up the pace, but I was swinging blind half the time."

"I got stuck with Feldwim and he messed me up almost every time. Especially when Tykon was looking. He's barely good enough for a bit part," Yana complained.

"I kept getting hit. It's a good thing these costumes are padded. Did you get hit with those sticks?" Timoz added, leaning over her plate to look at the Jedi. "Did you get hit?"

"Uh, no," Obi-Wan answered. Qui-Gon smiled and kept eating. He could think of a few touchy Jedi Masters who would have been quite offended to be asked if they accidentally 'hit' their Padawans during any practice session, even with just a lighted stick.

The performers warily looked at him, but he did not look back. Technically, he was a member of the Creative Committee that would decide their fates in the Play, so their interest in him was driven by their desperate longing to succeed. They did not know that he was going to cede his vote to the others, Nothing he could say would set them at ease, so he settled for saying nothing.

Sitting in the middle, Obi-Wan squirmed. Earnestly determined, Yana Twarn started up the converstion again.

"You never said that your Master could dance so well."

"I did not know it myself, until today." Obi-Wan's brows rose in his direction. Declining the invitation to join in, Qui-Gon took another bite. Twarn's companions kept their heads down, their eyes darting back to their food when Qui-Gon glanced their way.

"Oh?" Twarn's dark brown eyes widened as she looked around Obi-Wan at him. Qui-Gon kept chewing.

"Well, I suppose that what we do is similar. We fight on stage, and I know that's supposed to be like fighting, but that's just pretending . . . to be fighting." Twarn's attempt to make conversation stumbled to a stop. Obi-Wan was looking a little cross at him.

Qui-Gon put his eating utensil down. "Will your auditon for this part be after our meal?"

The three dancers all jumped and Eris's eating utensil clattered to the floor. Twarn cleared her throat.

"There is always a rest after eating, then some more practice before another break and then the audition."

"Hmm, then I presume I will not be needed. I will take this time to tour the Castle on my own." He stood, sliding from between the table and and bench. Obi-Wan started to rise, too, but he held up a hand. "Stay. You can com me if I am needed." He bowed his head to them all and left.

* * *

**= = = End Part 11**


	12. Chapter 12

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 12**

* * *

Obi-Wan heard Jutwa and Timoz sigh loudly as soon as Qui-Gon disappeared through the archway leading to the Lake wing of the Castle. Yana looked relieved as well.

"You never said your Master was so . . . intimidating."

He frowned. "He isn't usually that way. Really, he's very friendly."

"Friendly?" Jutwa looked skeptical. "I couldn't believe it when he chopped off Director Tykon's saber prop. He looked like he was going to chop up Tykon next."

"He wouldn't do that," Obi-Wan denied. How could anyone think that any Jedi could do anything like that just because someone yelled at them? "And what about Director Tykon? He's never satisfied, no matter how well you do, and he's always angry about it; how can you learn anything from that?"

"He's the Director, he has to push us," Yana told him as if this should be obvious, "and besides that, he's _Tykon_. He's made his own History. He directed his first History Play when he was right out of the Mweweer Academy and it just killed everything else. He's one of the original founders of the Twagri Group. He's one of the youngest persons to be installed in the Archives of History, ever. That means, sometime in the future, people will be writing History Plays about _him_."

"And the people he's with," Timoz said gesturing to himself and his friends. "And he's not just a Director; he's a performer like us, too. He did 'Green Leaves' and 'The Lies Under the King's Table' . . . I know those ones have made it to the popular holos on Coruscant."

"And he's not angry," Jutwa added. "It's _passion_. And you're not going to make good art without passion. You're not going to get _any_ art without passion. It isn't even History if you don't feel it."

Obi-Wan could feel the difference between passion and anger; Tykon was angry when he didn't get what he wanted. And if his Master was right, that the Director was really dissatisfied with the Play itself, then none of the performers had any chance of gaining his approval. But he did not want to argue the point, especially since he had not seen anything more than the minimal biographics information from their briefing. He had never heard of Ebsi Tykon before this mission. Even if Jedi did pay attention to the misma of popular entertainment on the Core worlds, a few notable works from an Outer Rim artist would be lost in the avalanche of choices that came and went like day-flies.

Yana also seemed to not want to get into an argument; she leaned toward him. "Well, perhaps Venerate Jedi Master Jinn still wasn't feeling well when he was cross with Director Tykon."

Obi-Wan knew that was not true, but he did not contradict her. They obviously had a ready excuse for anything that Tykon did.

They finished eating. Obi-Wan wasn't very hungry and only finished half the food on his plate. They went for a walk outside. The Castle had extensive gardens, all the paths lined with well trimmed green bushes and shrubs. Dozens of other dances were outside as well, though none of the technical and stage crew joined them; they did not get a break after their meal. The Castle had felt stuffy inside and Obi-Wan was glad for the fresh air.

Pointing at a trio of unmasked Darth Yarrs stretching and spinning in a grassy flower-edged circle, Obi-Wan asked what they wanted to practice. Yana and her friends looked scandalized.

"We can't practice any of the Play parts we know out here," she explained, "We can't even talk about it. Not where anyone can see or hear. We're just going to exercise."

"But anyone can see you, your costumes I mean."

Timoz waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, everybody knows who's _in_ the Play and what they look like. That's _known_ history. But we're forbidden to speak or divulge anything specific about it outside the Castle."

"We could be banned for life from the stage if we ever exposed anything about the story of a History Play." Jutwa warned. "Even struck from the Records if it's really bad. And I for one, want a good part in this one. Having a lead role in one of Director Tykon's History Plays gets you a lot better things than just dancing and acting in the background for any of us."

"Not that we know anything about the Mystery, anyway," Yana assured him before spying an unoccupied open area. "We can exercise over there before practice; it's been long enough after the meal."

Sighing, Obi-Wan held back the questions he had wanted to ask about why they had been singing about loving the Sith; they would have to be saved for later. He did not want to casue any trouble for them; they had enough of that with auditioning for Tykon. But he felt badly ill-informed. Was it common knowledge that Yarr's subjects loved her? The Jedi who destroyed her were helped by a servant who betrayed her. Why would anyone do that if they loved her?

They went through the winding paths to an open space, paved with tan and gray stone in an interconnecting pattern and surrounded by low flowering bushes and short wide trees with trailing branches, strands of bright green leaves hanging down to the ground.

Obi-Wan stretched with them, automatically clearing his mind, feeling the Force in the garden around him, the trees, the bushes, through the plant-scented air . . . in the three black-clad dancers facing him. They started out, each pursing their own routine, but gradually they synchronized, the three dancers following him. The sunlight shined bright on Jutwa's pale hair, on the red triangles on Yana's sleeves as she extended her arms, on the white half of the mask hanging over Timoz's chest as he lunged forward.

Breathing deeply again, Obi-Wan reached for the Force; it was there, but it seemed clouded. The three dancers dressed as Sith Lords, along with more in other parts of the gardens, were a distraction; he accepted that. He stepped forward . . . forward . . . forward . . . turn . . . arm out, forward, up. Mindful of each move, he felt the Force flow into his body, from everything around him, through him, under and above. Sweep with the arm, the leg, turn, strike-PUSH . . .

A bush a few paces away rustled, losing a few yellow and orange flower petals. It wasn't much, but it was what it was. He accepted it with an exhale, the Force slipping back at once into the background again. The air felt stuffy again, losing it's freshness.

To the side, and behind him, Yana, Jutwa and Timoz dropped their stances. They didn't even glance at the bush; they probably hadn't noticed.

"Aaaah," Yana sighed, "that was nice."

"Yeah, Timoz agreed, "but we'd better get back in for some real practice."

The other Yarrs seemed to have the same idea. Most of them were milling about in the great hall. Pecku strolled in from the stage area and announced that they would have an open practice until the auditions before third meal. Director Tykon was nowhere to be seen and no explanation was given for where he was.

"Come on." Yana skipped forward to the box of lightsticks. "Let's go find a room to practice in before all the good ones are taken." They grabbed lightsticks, along with Another Yarr, a tall youthful looking man with blue eyes and black and yellow striped hair who got Obi-Wan's attention.

"Excuse me, Venerate Jedi Apprentice Obi-Wan Kenobi, could you stay here and practice with us? And perhaps show us some of the fighting techniques that you used with Venerate Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn?" Five other Yarrs, of varying sizes and shapes, their eyes respectfully making the same request, stood behind him.

"Of course," he answered immediately. "However I can help."

A big smile breaking out on his face, the tall young Yarr gestured to the side. "Could we line up, taking it in turns with you like we did yesterday? And if you could tell us, please, where you think we might improve."

Obi-Wan frowned. "I can only tell you what I know about fighting. I think that could be very different from what Director Tykon wants you to do." He did not want to mislead them by telling them something that was correct for real lightsaber fighting but completely wrong for the Play. But the young Yarr's smile just got a little bigger.

"You honor us with your presence, Venerate Jedi Apprentice Obi-Wan Kenobi. And we are most grateful for the good luck you bring us." His eyes, and those of the other Yarr's glowed with admiration that Obi-Wan did not feel was quite deserved.

The Yarrs hurried to form a line, placing their black, white and red masks over their faces again, ready to take their turn. Shrugging Obi-Wan, turned toward Yana and her friends.

She glared at the other Yarrs, but then she, Jutwa and Timoz startled when she realized he was looking at them. Averting their eyes, they went to the back of the line. Blinking back surprise, Obi-Wan watched them go, but they put on their masks and did not look back at him.

Turning back to the tall Yarr, he asked what they needed. He and his friends gave him a quick demonstration of the routine required for the audition. It was a series of slashing advances for Yarr and dodges and retreats for the Jedi (the Yarrs did not know if it was Keth or Minigan since that information about the Play was still withheld). He did it with one and then the others, one at a time. As soon as one finished, he or she went to the back of the line for another turn.

He gave Yana an encouraging smile when her turn came up, but her eyes stared blankly back at him from behind the mask, her entire focus on the dance and nothing more. Jutwa and Timoz did the same. He wondered if he had offended them.

Repeating the routine over and over with the Yarrs, he noticed that the line kept growing until he was sure that every Yarr in the audition was there. After everyone had one turn they started coming after him faster, though hardly fast enough to challenge his training. At least he thought so at first, but as the dancers came around for their third turn he found himself tiring; the Castle air felt stuffy again. The Force was there but he felt out-of-synch with it and he relied on his own muscle memory and repetition to keep up the dance with the Yarrs. He could imagine Qui-Gon's voice in his head, telling him to focus.

"All right, auditions!"

Pekku's sudden annoucement jolted him out of the haze of automatic movement and the Yarr he practiced with jumped back. The whole group of them broke up, scattered and reformed into their neat lines. Tykon strolled up to them as if for an inspection. Behind him, Pekku with Qui-Gon, watched. Surprised, Obi-Wan wondered when his Master had returned from his tour of the Castle. Or had he come in with Pekku?

"This is the second audition. Your second chance for greatness." Tykon stared them all down. Behind him, Pecku and a stage technician set loose the hovering holo-droids. "Form a line!"

The Yarrs broke up again and reformed into a line. Some of the technicians ran up to them, checking their costumes for anything that might have come loose or needed repair. Obi-Wan looked down at the lightstick in his hand and up again, expecting Tykon to call him to his position. But he did not.

"Pecku!" Tykon called out. His assistant came forward with a lightsaber prop and stopped in front of Qui-Gon.

"You will do this audition with Venerate Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn!" the Director announced to his Yarrs.

Qui-Gon's eyebrown rose.

"You are a Sith Lord! Fighting a Jedi Knight!" Tykon pointed at Qui-Gon. "Your mortal enemy who is sworn to destroy you!" He paced before his performers again. "I expect your performances to show it!"

Holding the prop lightstick up with disdain, Qui-Gon curled his lip at it and then at Tykon. Obi-Wan looked from the Director to his Master. His Master didn't know any of the steps; he had not been practicing with any of the dancers.

Tykon pointed at the first Yarr in line and she stepped forward.

"Begin!"

The music started. Darth Yarr lunged.

Click! Click! Click!

The lightsticks tapped together, Qui-Gon simply blocking the dancer's swings as he backed up. This Yarr was following the routine perfectly, but Obi-Wan was sure it was too slow. The routine finished and the Yarr backed up to start again.

"Pick it up! You are fighting your deadliest enemy, not playing a sssats garden game!"

Click! Click! Click!

The Yarr attacked faster this time. But after the third step, Qui-Gon suddenly whirled to the side, bringing his stick down - - clik! - - quickly back up, then he backed up to the side as the Yarr pursued two more steps. He darted to the side, swinging his saber prop upward, knocking the Yarr's stick out of the way and then slashing his down again.

The next time, Qui-Gon changed his part after only two steps, but the Yarr seemed to be ready for him and reacted faster, still driving him back. The single keyboardist relentlessly played the music with the action. After doing the routine two more times Tykon told the Yarr to stop and he went into consultation with Pecku. The Director ignored Qui-Gon, left standing holding his lightstick.

The next Yarr came after Qui-Gon with more speed, but he startled and backed up when Qui-Gon changed the routine on him as well. The second time he tripped, fell rolling on the ground and coming up facing the Jedi. Tykon ordered him off after he did the routine only twice.

The auditions proceded that way and Obi-Wan lost count of how many had their turn, except for the dwindling number of Darth Yarrs in the line. After their audition, all of them went to an exit, presumably to take their costumes off.

Sitting on a bench, Obi-Wan grew weary of the auditioning; the keyboardist played the same music over and over and over. He could see that she wasn't paying any attention to it anymore; her hands danced over the keys on auto-pilot. Feeling very warm and uncomfortable, the young Jedi yawned and rubbed his eyes. He hoped that when the auditions were done, they could go back up to the apartment for dinner. He did not want to eat, but he could lay down and rest up in the tower. He knew he was sick. He realized he had been feeling it creeping up on him all afternoon. He just hoped he could leave quietly without notice.

When there were only two Yarrs left in the line, Obi-Wan thought seriously about going up to the tower before the auditons were done. He looked around for his robe and spotted it on a bench on the other side of the room. He wondered if it was worth the trouble to go get it. Then he wondered if he could make it all the way up the stairs to the apartment if he couldn't even cross Tamwa Hall to get his robe.

He stayed upright until the last Yarr finished. After seeing the determination of Yana and her friends, he did not want to ruin the audition for any them. But as soon as the music stopped, he lay down on the bench.

Footsteps pounded on the stone floor toward his bench.

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon touched his shoulder.

* * *

**= = = End Part 12**


	13. Chapter 13

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 13**

* * *

The circle of smooth wood rose up from the floor under the curved silver hemispher fixed to the ceiling above it. Qui-Gon Jinn steadied his Padawan against his body. The last of Obi-Wan's grasp of the Force slipped away with his strength, but he kept standing, his head down, pressed next to Qui-Gon's chest as if seeking shelter.

"Obi-Wan." Arms holding his apprentice to his body, Qui-Gon turned toward the smaller sleeping area. Eyes still closed, Obi-Wan moved with him without stumbling as Qui-Gon left the circle of wooden pillars around the lift. Then letting his Padawan fall back into his arm, he scooped up his legs, hefting him up; he was hardly a burden for the large man. He crossed the apartment to the sleeping platform and laid his apprentice on it.

Opening his eyes, Obi-Wan looked stricken as if he had disobeyed some unspoken command that he should not need help if he was unwell. Qui-Gon discouraged that falacy by ignoring it as he bent to loosen the straps of his boots and pull them off. They thumped on the floor, first the right, then the left. Obi-Wan fumbled with his belt, but Qui-Gon brushed his hands aside and unbuckled it for him, taking the lightsaber off and putting it on the side table by the head of the sleeping platform along with a small medical case from Healer Zhenum. Obi-Wan's expression remained resolutely unhappy.

He had refused to let Qui-Gon carry him from Tamwa Hall, even after the performers and crew had been sent away. Director Tykon had eyed the Jedi with much intensity as they left. Healer Zhenum had also advised that he not walk, but Obi-Wan had stubbornly insisted that he only needed a little help. Privately, Qui-Gon had been quite proud of Obi-Wan's determination; he used the focus that a Jedi Knight needed. A Master could only guide their apprentice to it. He had relied on the Force for strength as much as Qui-Gon's support. But when they came to the foot of the stairs up to the tower, Qui-Gon overode his objections and picked him up. Zhenum had intended to go with them, but he took one look up at the spiral staircase and handed over a medical case along with his instructions and a promise that one of them would come up to check on Obi-Wan later.

Sliding the belt out from under him, Qui-Gon loosened his obi and tunic, then sat him up to get his arms out of the sleeves.

"Just relax. Let me take care of it," he instructed after Obi-Wan tried to help again and almost got an arm stuck. Tunic, tabards, obi, then pants and undertunic all came off. Turning his head on the pillow, Obi-Wan reached up, but Qui-Gon stopped him again and gently pulled off the band from his tail lock, put it aside and smoothed that long lock on the back of his head.

Qui-Gon tugged the blankets down from under Obi-Wan, covered him and then sat down on the edge of the sleeping platform and opened the medical case. He put the scanner on Obi-Wan's chest, recording the readings, then held up the sample collector. Obi-Wan winced when it jabbed his arm. Qui-Gon confirmed that the sample reading on the analyzer was good, saved it for the Healer to review later and put it away. He got up, went to the food prep area and came back with a cup of water. Returning to the case, he took out the one-dose of medicine that Zhenum had told him to give to Obi-Wan. It only diminished the symptoms, but from his own experience that was adequate compensation for the taste.

Mixing it with the water, he sat down next to Obi-Wan and helped him sit up.

"It is best to drink it all at once."

Eyes locked on the cup, Obi-Wan took it and upended it. A tiny line of the cloudy liquid ran down his chin as he gulped it down with a sour grimace. Then he flinched away when Qui-Gon wiped the dribble with the elge of his sleeve.

"Lie back down. Rest." Qui-Gon covered him. "I'll be near if you need anything." He stood up.

"Master?"

Qui-Gon turned. Obi-Wan's fingers curled around the edge of the coverings, pushing them back down from his neck and shoulders. "Will the Play be canceled if they order a quarantine?"

He sat down again.

"Possibly. But it is more likely to only be delayed, if the Healers have their way." While Zhenum examined Obi-Wan, Director Tykon had ordered his performers to the opposite end of the room, clearly concerned about contagion. Zhenum had assured him that Obi-Wan had already been treated and could not be a carrier. But one of the Darth Yarrs asked about a dancer who had left the auditions the previous day, complaining about not feeling well. Zhenum immediately demanded to know who it was and where they were. Tykon had scoffed that the person, a dancer named Twunar, was sick and that any claim of illness was just an excuse from a slacker who was too cowardly to meet the Director's standards. The Healer scolded Tykon about his lack of qualifications in medicine and decreed that any possible illness should have been reported immediately. Zhenum had commed the other Healers about locating the ailing Twunar.

Qui-Gon laid a hand on his apprentice's arm. "You are concerned."

"Yana and the others are determined to do well in the auditions." Obi-Wan lowered his eyes for a moment. "They would be very disappointed if they were not allowed to perform."

"Yes, I suppose they would be." Tykon and the performers might fear a cancellation less than failure. An unperformed Play could still be claimed to be an unfulfilled success . "But that is not our concern, Obi-Wan."

"Will they still give us the remains of the holocron if the Play is canceled?"

Qui-Gon frowned. "Chancellor Mwetta and her Executive Council agreed to give the remains of Darth Yarr's holocron to the Jedi Order if we participated in their celebration. No conditions were set for them to withhold the holocron. If there are any problems we shall contact the Jedi Council. Though I doubt there will be any," he finished, reassuring, but Obi-Wan still looked worried. "There is something else?"

"Not about the holocron." He frowned. "Master, when we came back to the Hall, they were singing about loving the Sith. Why would they do that? Weren't the Sith cruel and oppressive to the people they ruled?"

"That would not stop people from loving their oppressors." Qui-Gon saw the confusion in his young Padawan's eyes. "Even cruelty and violence can look benevolent and kind from the right point of view. And Darth Yarr was known for corrupting the point of view of her people to her advantage."

"Our briefing for this mission did not mention any of that."

"It is in the Jedi Archives."

"Any information about the Sith is restricted. You need to be present for me to access it."

"Ah." He nodded. The Jedi Order did not allow adventurous and curious Padawans access to potentially dark paths in their training. Only senior Padawans and Knights were allowed free access to anything beyond the basic facts about the Sith. And some things were restricted to only Masters and the Jedi Council. He spotted a stool by the window-wall, retrieved it and sat down. "What do you surmise about 'The Tragedy of Darth Yarr' from the the auditions we have seen?"

Obi-Wan's brows furrowed with concentration. "Knights Keth and Minigin come to defeat Darth Yarr, but the people she rules love her. And Keth and Minigan are helped by a person in Yarr's Castle, but there is some disagreenment between them about it. That is what happened? Keth and Minigan were aided by a servant in Yarr's fortress?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes. The servant who betrayed Yarr did love her, but she had seen clearly the evil of the Dark Side. So, when the Jedi came, she gave them access to Yarr's fortress, this Castle," he gestured, his eyes flicking downward. "Keth and Minigan were able to confront Yarr alone, without her supporters and she was defeated, though Keth was killed as well."

"Yarr had an apprentice."

Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes, Hulus. He was killed when he confronted Keth and Minigan when they first arrived. Yarr heard of this and her supporters rallied around her in her fortress where Keth and Minigan could not reach her. That is why the betrayal was so important. Yarr was an isolated Sith on an Outer Rim world. As so many Sith apprentices did, she had murdered her own Master, Lord Baras, years ago and she had no alliances. There were far more dangerous and strategically located Sith Lords in the galaxy then. The Jedi could not spare anyone to challenge with Yarr for some time."

Obi-Wan nodded and lowered his eyes. Qui-Gon though he might fall asleep but his blue-gray eyes opened again. "How did Darth Yarr make the people love her?"

Gazing down at his apprentice, Qui-Gon chose his answer carefully, the answer that ObiWan or any other curious Padawan would never be allowed to read or view by themselves in the Jedi Archives.

"Yarr was known for being attractive, even social; people are drawn to confidence and power and she had those in abundance. She did use the Force to influence minds, but more often she seduced them. Sith prize and acquire power over everything. Yarr measured her power by the love of her people. Love was the weapon she favored best. She flattered her subjects, gave them food and gifts, protected them, crushed their enemies. When she ruthelessly punished them, they would fault themselves, not any injustice in Sith law, and try harder to please her. Their gratitude and adoration fed her lust for power.

"She also literally seduced them; she was a woman of strong appetites with dozens of lovers at any one time. She often inspired them to fight for her, either in competitions for her favor, or against anyone who might challenge her. But in the end,Yarr always won these contests, often with her champions dying with her name on their lips."

Beyond the thin, pale curtains and the veranda garden, the sun hung low over the plains and the sea beyond them. It was the same landscape in the time of Darth Yarr, accurately preserved in the Living History Lands. But Qui-Gon could not see into the past when Sith and Jedi fought in wars between Dark and Light. That past seemed unimaginably distant and his words empty of their true meaning. He had no experience of those times, no living Jedi did. And his meditations in this place had only left him empty of any insight into them. But his life experience had shown him why the Dark path could be attractive, desirable under the right conditions.

"Yarr was reputed to have said that love was the greatest power in the Universe. Even greater than the Force. But her love was one of possession, greed and deception. And in the end her version of love brought her down just as much as the Dark Side did." He looked down at his Padawan.

Obi-Wan's eyes were closed, his breathing even and slow. Reaching out a hand, Qui-Gon brushed the young Jedi's cheek, his fingers trailing on the Padawan's braid laying on the white pillow. He did not stir.

Sitting back and folding his hands into the sleeves of his robe, Qui-Gon again looked out the window to the horizon for a meditation focus.

* * *

**%% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %%**

* * *

There were voices.

Obi-Wan recognized one of them as Qui-Gon. Not loud, calm. And the other one was . . .. cheerful . . . Healer Mwassil? The voices faded back again. The silence dragged on.

"Hhh!?" He started awake. Everything looked different, curving pale wood above, artificial light, dark shadows; the ceiling and walls were gray . . .

"Hhh!?" Flinching away from the sudden touch, he turned his head and his Master withdrew his hand. Embarrassed that he had been startled, he settled back on the pillow. Qui-Gon smiled down at him.

"Would you like something to eat?"

The malaise and dizziness had faded. He did not feel nauseous at least, and he supposed he needed to eat. The windows of the apartment were black. It was night, but he could not tell how late it was. He nodded.

Qui-Gon left and Obi-Wan pushed the blankets back. His Master returned with a tray; he must have had it ready. Putting it down for a moment, he rearranged the pillows so Obi-Wan could sit up properly before placing the meal before him. A bowl of warm stew with chopped green leaves spinkled on the surface, some fairly bland crackers, sliced fruits and berries from the garden and water.

Obi-Wan picked up the spoon while Qui-Gon sat down next to him.

"Chancellor Mwetta has announced a four day delay in the celebrations. The Healers have their quarantine. Healer Mwassil is very pleased."

His mouth full, Obi-Wan stared back and then swallowed. "Will the History Play be canceled then?"

Qui-Gon shook his head. "No. Only delayed. Apparently one of the dancers who left the auditions yesterday complained that it was because he was feeling unwell, though his status is unconfirmed. And there have been more individual cases of the serphrada virus in the other Living History Lands. Not an epidemic and the Healers are eager to keep it that way. Venerate Custodian Tykon has informed me that Director Tykon has sequestered himself with his writers and composers to use the time to improve the Play."

Obi-Wan nodded and continued eating. The food made him feel better, his head clearer as he thought about Tykon and his Play, Yana and the other performers. A film of crumb-dust covered his fingertips as he broke the crackers into the stew. When he with the meal, he wiped his hands and mouth on a napkin, making sure that he had not left any crumbs on the coverings. Qui-Gon took the tray away.

Instead of leaving, he stopped at the curving wood columns by the lift.

"I need to report to the Jedi Council about the delay. Will you need anything before I go?"

"Master." He pushed himself up and winced from a slight tilt of dizziness before continuing. "If people are drawn to a leader, even if they are abused, is it the Dark Side that they are drawn to?"

Qui-Gon folded his arms into the sleeves of his dark brown robe. "Only if that leader is using the Force is the Dark Side truly involved, which is very rare. Otherwise, their relationship is simply unhealthy."

"Then would you say that Director Tykon's relationship with his performers is unhealthy?"

His Master's eyes widened and looked aside as if there was an answer in a corner of the room. Obi-Wan waited.

"I had not noticed the similarity until you asked," he admitted, stepping onto the lift and activated it. "We will meditate on this tomorrow." He disappeared into the floor with a thoughtful smile on his lips. The lift hatch closed flush to the floor.

Alone, Obi-Wan slumped back down onto the pillows.

* * *

**= = = End Part 13**


	14. Chapter 14

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 14**

* * *

The lift activated. The cup floating between the two Jedi dipped and almost hit the floor before Obi-Wan caught it.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon chided, his eyes closed, his focus on the two plates and three pieces of fruit he held floating above them, supported only by the Force. Obi-Wan exhaled carefully; his cup drifted upward to join the bowl and root floating before him.

Still in the mediation, Qui-Gon opened his eyes half-way. Custodian Tykon and Sebo emerged from the floor. They stepped off, warily eyeing their Jedi guests seated on cushions on the floor, morning sunlight shining in through the windows. Seen through the Force, their living bodies seemed to have an extra dimension that touched everything around them. The same beautiful, vibrant shimmer held the ordinary objects up between him and his apprentice. Closing his eyes again, Qui-Gon felt it glowing and extending out from himself to the fruit and plates and beyond.

Inhaling and exhaling, Qui-Gon signaled the end to their meditation. The shimmer receded, melting to the back of his perception again, taking with it the deeply serene sense that he could touch anything because it was all a part of him. Obi-Wan's exhale came out more like a long sigh, as both of them stood and flexed their bodies. On the floor, Qui-Gon's two plates were stacked, the fruit forming a neat triangle on the top one. Obi-Wan's cup and bowl and root lay in random places on the floor and he looked a little embarrassed about being sloppy.

Qui-Gon straightened and bowed to Custodian Tykon and Sebo.

"I am pleased to see you again." He inclined his head to Sebo, not mentioning their last meeting when she had fled from his questions.

"As am I, Qui-Gon," she answered, warily composed.

"Master Qui-Gon," Custodian Tykon clasped her hands before her very generous bosom. "I apologize for waiting so long to come to welcome you as a member of the Creative Committee for the History Play."

"That is quite all right, given my illness. And I expect my part in your Committee to be minimal. The Jedi do not wish to interfere."

"That is very kind of you to say, but we have been remiss in not including you sooner." Custodian Tykon's sigh reflected the disquiet inside her. "Unfortunately, this delay has stirred up the Director and he has made the completely un-called for and unwise choice to revise the Play. And we must meet to decide on what will be done." Her eyes shifted away from the Jedi to her fellow Venerate who gave her no support. Qui-Gon suspected that the Creative Committee had already informally met and that strong opinions had already been exchanged.

"The Committee is meeting now, Qui-Gon." Sebo's quiet voice announced and the Castle Custodian gave her an unhappy look. "We would be honored by your presence."

"Of course." He turned to Obi-Wan. "Carry on. Do not overtax yourself."

When he got his apprentice up that morning, he seemed almost completely recovered thanks to the preventative treatment the Healers had given him and he certainly had a healthy appetite when they sat down to eat. But as Qui-Gon had experienced, he was still vulnerable to lingering dizziness from the virus.

He bowed his head. "Yes, Master."

The lift could take three if they all stood together, their outer clothes touching in a stoic triad looking past each other until they reached the bottom. Tykon led the way down the winding stairs, down to the gallery overlooking the great hall. The Custodian led them through a doorway, down another corridor to another spiral stairway that took them below ground. Tykon ignored the closed door at the base of the stairs and went left to a blank stone wall.

"Qui-Gon," Sebo spoke from behind him and he turned to look down at her. But she just smiled in return. A whisper of sound and a shift in the air grazed the back of his hair and when he turned back, the stone wall had slid aside, leaving a dark portal for them to enter. With a glance toward her fellow Castle Venerate, Tykon went in first, then Qui-Gon with Sebo following.

"Master Qui-Gon." The stout Custodian faced him; the short, dimly lit stone corridor before them ended in a plain gray door. "For this meeting of the Creative Committee we must convene in the Hall of Mysteries, to address the changes in the History Play that Director Tykon is insisting upon. I do not question your place here or that you respect our customs, but it is my duty here to remind you of them now."

Behind him, he heard the whisper of the concealed door closing, sealing them in. He bowed to the Custodian.

"I come to serve, Custodian Tykon."

Nodding back, she turned and went to the door. She kept her body between him and what she did to open it. The plain barrier slid aside to admit them with a slight grinding sound of stone against stone. Again Tykon led, Sebo followed with Qui-Gon between them. As they descended, their footsteps the only sound on the ancient steps, the Jedi felt an increasing sense of the age of the place. The Hall of Mysteries was the most sacred place of any large building or structure of governance on Maarzim. That tradition had existed on this world for millennia, even before the time of Darth Yarr. Lights came on above as they advanced and went out as they passed leaving solid blackness behind them as if the ordinary world above had been erased.

As they reached the bottom of one last stairway, Qui-Gon heard quiet voices that hushed as he followed Tykon down a narrow corridor and turned.

The other members of the Creative Committee waited before a large double door. Temba, his light blue tunic almost gray in the low, yellow light, stood with them and met Custodian Tykon. They exchanged hushed comments, Tykon's white hair close to Temba's light brown. Qui-Gon's attention was drawn to the other members of the Creative Committee.

Wearing loose pants and tunic in historically compatible grays, quite unlike the close-fitting colorful clothes from the day before, Director Ebsi Tykon stood taller than all of them except Qui-Gon. Arms tensely folded over his chest, he watched the two Castle Custodians. Roobi Mwemas, the music Director watched Director Tykon with a similar expression. Qui-Gon had seen her the day before when he toured the Castle, but had not spoken to her. Wearing grayish green shirt and skirt with a pale sash tied about her middle, she was of medium height and built, middling in years with dark angular facial features and long curling blond hair with a tint of gray to it.

Next to her, standing together and also wearing plain, loose-fitting period clothes were the writer, Quembu Smetin, and the composer, Thwurn Aka, for the History Play. Qui-Gon had never met them; he only knew them from the holo briefing back at the Jedi Temple. Both were similarly sized men of late middle years, jowly-faced with wary eyes and both shorter than Mwemas. Smetin had a little more brownish gray hair and his body a little thinner. Aka had less hair, completely bald on top, and was paunchier. Qui-Gon gave them a neutral look; they flinched back together and whispered to each other.

Temba finally bowed to the senior Custodian and left, hurrying down the corridor to the stairs, darkness closing in behind him. Everyone turned their attention to the elder Tykon.

"Thank-you all for coming for this assembly. Normally we would have met in a Council chamber upstairs." She nodded toward Qui-Gon. "But the revisions to the History Play that Director Tykon has proposed require a more serious discussion.

Sebo continued. "Qui-Gon, as a Jedi you are a Venerate in your own right, but your are still an outsider. I must again remind you that the Hall of Mysteries is our most sacred ground and it must be respected.

"Of course." He bowed low to her and Sebo, and wondered what they were afraid he would do.

"We begin," Sebo spoke softly.

Together, the others turned their backs on the two women and Qui-Gon joined them. After the quiet sounds of the women's sandals on the stone floor and the rustle of fabric, a deep rumble followed. Stealing a glance, the Jedi saw that all the others kept their eyes fixed away from the sound, staring at the wall, carved with ancient scenes of people gathering, fighting, dancing, working.

"Come!" Tykon spoke, her voice very loud in the entryway.

Turning around, they all faced a large open door leading into a columned circular room, yellow-white artificial lights shining down from the ceiling and from recesses high on the walls. The floor was patterned in light and dark shades of smooth stone. With Sebo and Tykon standing sentry on either side, Qui-Gon watched the others enter, one by one, Mwemas, Director Tykon, Aka and then Smetin. They each fell to their knees between the two women and bowed their heads to the floor until the two touched their heads and gave their blessing. When it was his turn, Qui-Gon did the same and he felt their hands on his head where his long hair was tied back.

"Welcome and enter Venerate Jedi; it is time for you to learn the Mystery." Sebo spoke directly over him. When they were all inside, standing in a circle, all the others turned their backs to the door. Again, Qui-Gon followed their lead. After the slow grinding sound of the door closing, sealing them in, Sebo and Tykon joined their circle with Sebo signing for Qui-Gon to stand on her right; Custodian Tykon was on her left.

"Director Ebsi Tykon has requested some significant additions to the History Play that the whole Creative Committee must agree upon." Frowning, Custodian Tykon nodded her head to him.

The Director nodded back, then knelt and bowed low, hands on the stone floor in front of him, facing Sebo. "Noble Venerates, I am grateful that you have entrusted me and my fellow artists with the sacred task of bringing life to your Mystery. And I now beg for your permission to add new life to the work."

Qui-Gon's brows rose. Director Tykon spoke the formal words like a prayer. He was completely sincere, subservient to the Venerates.

Custodian Tykon scowled. "It is very late to make changes, now."

"Stand and speak here now, what you propose to do." Sebo spoke kindly and the Director stood, his arrogance reasserting itself.

"The Play needs shadow dances. Dark against light. Jedi against Sith." He looked directly at Qui-Gon as he said that. "For all the scenes where they are opposed. We can use our dancers for them. But for the climax, I want the Jedi to be part of it."

"This was discarded from your earlier draft. It was unbalanced. We don't have any Sith to match the Jedi. And the Jedi Council quite plainly said that they would not be active participants in the Play itself." Custodian Tykon answered."

"Oh, we know that."Quembu Smetin raised a hand as if to ask permission to speak, then he stepped forward without waiting for it. "But there is one way to do it. If it's just the climax, the Jedi could be paired with Venerate Sebo. It would be two Venerates paired off. And since it's the climax, it's not even really a fight, just a confrontation. It should work splendidly."

"It will be magnificent." The Director grinned triumphantly. "And Venerate Sebo has agreed to do it. All we need now is the Jedi." Again his glare landed on Qui-Gon.

"Sebo!" Custodian Tykon looked offended. Her fellow senior Venerate shrugged one shoulder.

"It feels right, Begu." She gazed back at the artists. "If I am to relinquish the Mystery, I should be part of the revelation." She lowered her eyes and looked up at Qui-Gon. "If Master Qui-Gon is willing."

He raised his brows, his gaze turning back to Director Tykon, impatiently waiting.

"Well? Well? Jedi Master Venerate Qui-Gon Jinn? We need you to be part of this. I already know you can make it look good."

"Thank-you for your confidence, Director," he answered. "But the Jedi Council was quite explicit in this agreement. The Jedi will officiate in return for the remains of Darth Yarr's holocron. No more." Qui-Gon folded his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe. "I must decline."

The Director's eyes widened in surprise tinged with a little bit of fear. "You can't just say no! You don't know what you're saying no to!" He pointed at Sebo. "Show him the Mystery! That's what we're down here for."

"Director Tykon! You do NOT order us around! Certainly not here!" The sharpness of Custodian Tykon's rebuke seemed to take him by surprise. Smetin shrank back next to Aka while Mwemas glared at the Director.

He fell to his knees before Sebo, shockingly subservient again. "I beg forgiveness." He looked up, his eyes imploring. "But you must show him. He cannot refuse once he knows the Mystery. It is everything. I have vowed to put all of my energy, my life, all that I am into this. Show him. Please."

Sebo now looked a little worried and again turned back to him. "Qui-Gon, you have waved all your rights on the Creative Committee. But Director Tykon, Director Mwemas, Creators Smetin and Aka believe that revealing the Mystery to you will change your position on this. You do have a right to know."

"I do not see how. But I will listen," he answered politely. He had some discretion on how much he might participate, but had no intention of joining Tykon's troop of performers.

"Then observe, Master Jedi."

* * *

**= = = End Part 14**


	15. Chapter 15

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 15**

* * *

The light in the room changed, growing brighter in the middle where Sebo took her place. The others withdrew to the shadowed edges of the floor pattern and Qui-Gon did as well.

Sebo spread her arms out, her palms upward, a priestess calling down her gods and goddesses.

"I am the Lady of the Tower, whose name was so dangerous it was taken from her, who grew old and died there before Cloras the First united this world again from the chaos after the fall of the Sith Lord. I am the keeper of her name. I hold the Mystery. I live her life.

"She was Nirid, daughter of a servant of this Fortress and a herder, but destined to be more than the life her ancestors gave her. She was smart and quick, a pretty girl who was loved well by family and friends and she loved them with the pure innocence of the young. But above all those, she loved a boy; he was handsome and smart, but gentle and he listened to her and poured his own heart out to her in return as they went on long walks together. And with the flowering of their youth, one long walk inevitably turned into physical love. Sweaty and clumsy, but intense and passionate. And it was the first time for both of them.

"But the next day, a Jedi, Master Orkut Zim came and recognized the boy, Keth Neem-Dolahkos, as one who could be trained in the Jedi ways. In those times, those with potential were trained, no matter what their age, if they were deemed worthy. And even amidst the vast distances of space, among the uncounted individuals on uncounted worlds, the special powers of the Jedi led them to find their initiates.

"Keth was eager. The life of a Jedi was much better than that of the son of cook and a crafter. He impetuously committed himself to be an apprentice of the Jedi. Only later did he think to tell Nirid and then ask Master Orkut to take her with them. His new Master was dismayed, for he saw that she also had potential to be a Jedi, a potential he had initially failed to see. The only two from this world for generations, and they had found each other and were in love. But he said nothing of this to the girl, who was also excited to leave and see the galaxy."

Qui-Gon remained expressionless during the narration, his arms folded into the broad sleeves of his robe.

"She could not go. The Jedi even then held their vows to their order above those to any friend, lover or family. She could not be trained by the Jedi for that would put her near Keth. And he foresaw that Keth would farsake his Jedi vows for her if she was near at hand.

"So, he gave Keth Neem-Dolahkos a cruel choice. He could come or go as he willed. But if he chose to go, he would go alone. As a Jedi.

"Heart aching, he sat up all night, in a place where he and Nirid used to go and talk. But it was Nirid who made the choice and told him to go. It was better that at least one of them go out to see the center of the galaxy, than both stay to their plain lives. And she told him that if the Jedi could find him among all the planets and systems in the galaxy, then she believed that she would find him again.

"So, Keth left Nirid behind, to become a Jedi Knight. But she did not lead an ordinary plain life. For the same power that drew Jedi together also drew the dark powers as well. And when the Dark Lord, Darth Baras came to this world, seeking power and conquest; it was not long before Nirid caught his attention.

"He was old and corrupt and she despised him at first sight. That was her first lesson on the dark path, how to hate. He captured her and killed her family. And killed their allies, including Keth's kin, but that was unknown to him since he had abandoned family and home along with Nirid to follow the Jedi.

"With her as his prisoner, Darth Baras taught her the Sith ways through abuse and cruelty. She learned to desire power, first to destroy him, but that very quickly turned to a lust for power itself. And when it did, he stripped her of her old life and took her as his apprentice, naming her Darth Yarr."

Sebo lifted her chin, her calm face turned upward to the light above, her body in shadow, her story paused in the echoless room. Qui-Gon closed his eyes, feeling the Force, close around him, the others in the room as still as he. The facts generally agreed with the Jedi Archives, but Qui-Gon had seen nothing about any early connection between Keth and Yarr save that they came from the same planet. Since Yarr's holocron had been destroyed, there were few personal details and nothing about her origins. He sensed that Sebo was telling the truth, so far as she knew it, that her life's work was to be the living embodiment of a woman who became a Sith Lord, defeated eight-thousand years ago.

"But the student exceeded the Master."

Qui-Gon saw Sebo through the Force as a pillar of faint light, with no darkness or evil in her, linked to the Force as all living things were, but no more or less than the others in the room.

"Darth Yarr knew how to love as passionately as Nirid had. And she saw the power in it. She kept her old name, secret from her Sith Master, and as Nirid she learned all the things that could not be gained through fear and conquest. As Darth Yarr, she grew strong and powerful, and desirable to her Master. She made him want her. She made him need her. And when she killed him to become the Master herself, as was the way of Sith Lords, he died from loving her."

The air in the chamber grew heavy with the breath of the gathered people as if it thickened with the history Sebo told them.

"Yarr grew strong, acquiring followers, admirers who willingly supported her conquests that engulfed the planet. Her successes drew the attention of other Sith. This world was too distant to be of any strategic gain, but a worthy Sith apprentice came to Maarzim, Hulus, a Turidni young man. He was ambitious and strong, but had been raised in a harsh and cruel land and was an easy target for Yarr's passions."

Qui-Gon saw blackness behind his eyelids. No images, no power came to him from Sebo's story. It was as lifeless to him as data in a computer.

"Through conquest and seduction, Darth Yarr's rule expanded to consume all of Maarzim. She grew powerful enough to draw the attention of the Jedi. And the Jedi Order sent one who already knew this world. Keth, a full Jedi Knight who no longer used his old family name. And Minigan, a young Knight, the former apprentice of Master Trioni, a friend and age-mate of Keth. And who had been killed by the Sith.

That part of the story matched what Qui-Gon knew from the Jedi Archives, but it was still cold facts, stirring no extra insight in the Force.

"The Sith knew that the Jedi were there as soon as they landed and Hulus, eager to please his Master, went out to meet them. But he had more initiative than skill; Keth and Minigan cut him down and they evaded the soldiers who attacked. When Hulus's body was found, the death of the favorite of their beloved Lord raised the passion of the people to hunt down and capture the Jedi, who were completely surprised by it. They had expected violence and opposition the soldiers of the Sith, not devotion and fanaticism from the people for their Sith Overlord."

The story diverged again from the Jedi Archives. Keth and Minigan had killed Yarr's apprentice soon after arriving and were forced to hide from Yarr's troops. But there were no reports of unusual 'devotion and fanaticism'.

"Yarr went out as Nirid, to find the Jedi. And was herself captured by her own passion and desire, when she recognized Keth. Decades had passed, but he was still slim and strong. And now a powerful Jedi and she wanted him as much as she had when they first coupled so many years ago."

Qui-Gon straightened, head high, as if trying to recapture a scent. The Force was utterly still and unresponsive to Sebo's liturgy.

"Nirid appeared to them and under the guise of helping them, she led them to her fortress, this castle, where they were attacked and separated. The Sith Lord herself walked the floor of this very room when she conquered it. Hulus was captured and taken as Yarr's prisoner. But Nirid led Keth, who was injured, to a secret room. To Keth, Nirid was his long lost love and a lowly Castle servant who conspires to help him escape. To Mimigan, the Dark Lord came to deliver her cruel torture and seduction.

"Minigan had the confidence of youth and little experience. Darth Yarr enjoyed breaking him and she poured all of her lust into dominating him. But to Keth, Nirid only showed gentle compassion. She planned to reveal her Sith nature to him, to coerce him to the Darkness, but when they were alone, Keth only reminded her, Nirid, of a time when she was young and just Nirid, with a family and a boy who returned her love."

The story had diverged considerably from the Jedi Archives. Minigan and Keth were captured; Minigan was more seriously injured, and Keth was able to escape with the help of a Castle servant who wished to be freed from the Sith. Keth then confronted Yarr who was killed in a duel of lightsabers that also left Keth mortally wounded. Minigan was the only survivor to return and report their success to the Jedi Council. Qui-Gon knew all of this from the Archives, but he felt no insight at all, either supporting the Archives or Sebo's narrative.

"Nirid never felt more distant from her Darth Yarr self than when she lay with Keth. But her lust poured out from Darth Yarr into Minigan. She broke him too well. While she planned her seduction of Keth, Minigan, full of rage and Darkness, escaped. And he confronted Yarr with murderous intent. They fought. They would have killed each other, but Keth, having found his own escape called to Nirid.

"He had known all along who she was. She had deceived herself into thinking that she could conceal her Dark Lord identity to a man who loved her so much. Tears, running down his face, he renounced his vows to the Jedi, because they had led him to leave her behind to fall into Darkness so long ago. He swore to never use the power of the Force again, if she would only forgive him for so coldly leaving her behind. Yarr dropped her weapon, her heart pierced by the purity of his love for her. It far outshined her passion, a swelling sun enfolding her." Sebo's voice roughened with emotion and she drew a breath before going on.

"But Minigan was enraged. He struck with blind fury. Keth threw Nirid aside and took the blow. Minigan's lightsaber plunged through his body, a mortal blow. Screaming, Yarr caught him, cradling him in her arms, her own tears flowing freely, she asked why he did not defend himself.

"Completely at peace, Keth smiled up at her, his eyes joyous. He had vowed to renounce all use of the Force, if she would forgive him.

"And so, Keth broke Darth Yarr, and she became Nirid for the last moment of his life." Sebo paused again, her voice gone high and weak. "She held him. And she vowed to never use the power of the Force ever again for the rest of her days, for love of him.

"But Keth also broke Minigan, too. When he saw the two lovers at his feet and realized what he had done, his rage left him. Dropping his weapon, he fell to his knees and begged for Keth's forgiveness.

"Keth granted it willingly. But he extracted a promise from Minigan. That he would leave that world as a Jedi Knight and report that Darth Yarr died. Because the Jedi Council would never believe that Nirid was no longer a Dark Lord and they would send others to hunt her down to kill her.

Sebo's voice grew firm again. Qui-Gon heard movement, footsteps, stone moving against stone.

"Minigan promised. And Keth died. His body was burned in the Jedi way, the ashes scattered on the hills beyond this Castle. And Nirid renounced all claim to power, accepting her fate. She had made many enemies, but she cared not if they killed her.

"One of her lieutenants claimed her throne. He had no special powers, but he was strong and ambitious, enough to be a war lord. He had learned about cruelty from Darth Yarr. So, he sentenced her to live; to die of old age, imprisoned in this fortress. He stripped her of her name, because it was too dangerous; a word from her could ignite her followers' passions to rise up against him. And he took the symbols of the Sith, claimed their power by sealing them up here."

Qui-Gon's vision suddenly flared bright red, a star exploding, expanding into fiery, crimson plasma, filling the room with fear, anger, heat, rushing at him. He gasped and it filled his lungs with a dizzying fever, going down his whole body to his loins. It was the Force, boiling through him with strength and power. Electricity danced on his fingertips; he could so easily close his hand and squeeze hard for more and sieze the ecstasy of it. The heat increased, rising from him, shifting from red to orange to yellow and white.

His lightsaber flew to his hand and the green blade hissed out, an extension of his hand, arm, body. Leaping forward, he grasped the hilt tightly with both hands and exhaled, pushing out the hot greedy power and breathing in the cool balance of of body and blade. The Force felt strong and sure and he pulled his arms back to strike.

He froze.

The sudden storm vanished as if it had been swept out into vacuum through an open airlock. The muted lighting in the circular stone room looked dark and gloomy compared to the red nova an instant ago, Except for the bright red light of the lightsaber blade, held up vertically by Sebo, her eyes closed, expression calm, head tilted back. A finger moved and the red blade vanished. She fell to her knees before him, her body sweeping forward, and lay the black and silver hilt on the ground. Then she spread her arms out, tilting her head back, exposing her neck.

Shocked by what her gesture implied, he drew back, extinguishing his own blade. Behind her, Custodian Tykon gaped at him in near terror. She held a tray of objects, crystalline shards, shiny black lumps, a white and black mask with a red triangle.

And nestled among them was a dark, whole and quite intact Sith holocron.

* * *

**= = = End Part 15**


	16. Chapter 16

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 16**

* * *

Qui-Gon sucked in air, the Force washing through him. Usually, it warmed his whole body, but this time it was cold after the blazing, consuming fire he had just been through. Recovering from his shock, he raised his hand. The Sith lightsaber rose up in the air to his eye level. Most of it was black, with a long black hand grip and a round pommel, black emitter with three long sharp prongs, red and silver recessed buttons on a silver and black body. It turned slowly under the cold light from above.

It was a lightsaber, cold and emotionless as a blaster or power cell. Looking over Sebo's head, he extended his other hand.

Custodian Tykon gasped as all of the objects on her tray lifted into the air. Qui-Gon brought them to him; floating with the lightsaber, a pair of black gauntlets, a length of thick black cord with hooks on the ends, a small control box, corroded at the edges, Darth Yarr's mask, a heavy black metal belt, three dark red crystals, one of them cracked, metal and transparent plates and shards, and the unbroken holocron, a cube shape a little bigger than his hand, dark and dead in the center.

"What is this?" Qui-Gon's eyes remained fixed on the holocron drifting in the middle of the Sith debris.

"They are the sacred artifacts of this Castle!" Custodian Tykon had found her voice and her outrage again. "Of our History! How _dare_ you defile them!"

Qui-Gon's index finger twitched and the tray whipped out of her hands, up and down, horizontal under the objects. They drifted down onto it. Tykon rushed forward, grabbing back the tray, and Qui-Gon let her have it. He glared down at her.

"Nothing was said of these things. The Jedi Order should have been told that you were hoarding Sith artifacts."

"I believe," Sebo climbed to her feet as she spoke, "that you will find in our agreement that we only specified them as 'Sith artifacts'. The Jedi Council assumed that we had only the holocron fragments. We saw no reason to discourage this assumption. And," she gestured toward the tray's contents. "It will all be yours, after the Play."

"A Sith holocron is an extremely dangerous device, even sealed in a vault like this. You should not have kept it." The holocron on the tray drew his eyes to it and he exhaled, almost pushing the Force away so he would not look too closely. Dull gold metalloid sealed it's edges. Etchings of squares and wavy lines scored the faces with the glints of embedded fine silver wires. Like lightsabers, all holocrons were unique depending on the design and imprints of their makers. Qui-Gon averted his eyes.

Sebo's brows lowered to a glare. "It has been in our care for eight-thousand years without mishap. This holocron died when Nirid renounced herself as Darth Yarr. And when she renounced the Force."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "That is not possible."

"Are you so learned in Sith that - - -"

"I don't care!" Director Tykon stepped up to them, surprising Sebo and the Custodian into backing away from him. Qui-Gon turned his head to face the angry man. "You saw the Mystery. You have to be opposite Sebo in the last shadow dance, when Nirid renounces the Sith and she puts her lightsaber aside! It will be perfect!" He shook his fist in his excitement.

"No. I will not."

The intensity in Tykon's brown eyes wavered, not taking in the answer. Qui-Gon turned to Sebo who only looked slightly sad to hear it. And now that he knew that she devoted her life to commemorate a Sith, she seemed much smaller to him. She had to be extraordinarily deluded about the true nature of the Sith. "I will not perform in your History Play. Our agreement is that I and my Padawan assist in the preparations and attend as guests of honor, which we shall do. After that we will take these artifacts and - - -"

"No!" Tykon put himself between Qui-Gon and Sebo. "You _have_ to do it! You _can't_ refuse. You - - -."

"No he doesn't!" Roobi Mweemas suddenly had a good grip on Director Tykon's hair and ruthlessly dragged him away, pulling his head backward and down to her eye level. "You made your request, on sacred ground. And he said, 'NO'. That's it." Then she grinned and put her face up to his. "And we are _keeping_ the shadow dances without him. As we agreed?"

"But, aaah!"

Mwemas twisted Tykon's hair and snarled back, enunciating every word, "As. We. Agreed."

Eyes squeezed shut in pain, he nodded. "As we agreed!"

She released him, pushing him away from the Venerates and he stumbled before regaining his balance, hand on his abused hair.

Sebo looked up at Qui-Gon, her expression mild. "I must confess that I am disappointed. It is a great honor for a Venerate to participate in a History Play."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "I cannot. The story you told me is impossible. A Sith would never renounce her power. It has never happened - - -"

"Master Qui-Gon!" Custodian Tykon's shout surprised him.

"You may hold whatever misguided Jedi beliefs you wish, but you will _not_ speak sacrilege. Especially not here!" She walked right up to him, the contents of the tray she held rattling with every step; the top of her white head coming only half-way up his chest.

He opened his mouth, but remembered to step back and bow low to her before speaking. "My apologies, Custodian Tykon. I meant no offense."

Still cross, she continued to glare at him. Sebo bowed her head. Director Tykon hunched his shoulders while Mwemas, arms folded over her chest looked ready to attack if he moved. Smetin and Aka stood shoulder to shoulder, eyes wide and fixed on the head Custodian. Little noises became loud in the prolonged silence. Feet shifting on the floor, a rustle of clothes, Custodian Tykon's breathing.

She gave out a final huff. "I am disappointed that I needed to warn you about such an offense, Master Qui-Gon Jinn. And I expect you will not need another. Director Tykon," she addressed him without taking her eyes off Qui-Gon. "You have your answer. Your proposed changes will not include Master Qui-Gon's participation." She turned her head to her fellow Venerate, her tone softening. "Sebo, will you still participate in this?"

She nodded. "Yes, I shall, if I am still needed. It still feels right."

Tykon sighed; she turned around to the others, the tray of Sith artifacts still held under her chest. "Does the Creative Committee still wish to make the changes and allow Director Tykon to make them?"

"Aye." "Aye." "Aye." "Aye." They answered with conviction and a poisonous glare from Director Tykon aimed at the Jedi.

"Master Qui-Gon?"

He nodded to the side. "I give my vote to Director Tykon." The Director's glare intensified.

Sebo smiled. "Aye."

Custodian Tykon sighed. "I still vote no. But the changes will be made. We will finish here now." She and Sebo went to a blank wall. The artists turned there backs to them. Qui-Gon turned his back to all of them. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind. He heard the sounds of stone moving on stone. The two women glowed with life, harmonious with their surroundings. But the artifacts that they sealed back into the hidden vault, all of them, were as plain and ordinary as stones.

* * *

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* * *

Snip. Snip. Snip.

Obi-Wan heard plants rustling; leaves fluttered.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

Thunk.

His eyes snapped open. He sat up, the coverings of the sleeping platform falling away from him. It was full midday. The sunlight came in from the skylights, making bright circles of light on the pale floor. Looking around, he spotted the outline of someone on the veranda through the semi-tranparent white curtains over the window-walls. Sebo, trimming the plants.

Pushing away the soft white coverings, he swung his legs over to the side and slowly rose, standing on the floor in his bare feet. His hands out, he checked his balance, but he felt nothing amiss. No dizziness. His eyes went to the open area of floor where he had been practicing lightsaber forms. And the long black gash that marred the pale wood.

He should have dropped it. He had been trained since he was a youngling to always drop his lightsaber if he felt any hint of a misstep, and that the Force itself would guide his hand to let go and let it extinguish. A lightaber undirected was as much a danger to the user as it was to any foe. But the sudden dizzy spell had so shocked him that he clutched the weapon tightly until the damage was done. It now rested on a side table with his belt, obi and tabbards. He had lain down to rest, but he had not intended to sleep the whole morning. Outside, Sebo moved away to tend more plants. But the rest of the apartment was empty. If she was back, where was Qui-Gon?

He went to the fresher to pee and wash his hands and face. After that, he dressed and made himself presentable. Putting his robe on, he slid a door aside onto the veranda.

It was warm and pleasant, the air scented with green leaves, flowers, fruits and healthy damp soil. Obi-Wan walked around the curved walkway between the potted plants and raised boxes and waited for Sebo to turn and acknowledge him with a smile and nod. He bowed low.

"My apologies for damaging your home. I was careless. I have no excuse."

Sebo continued to smile, clearly unconcerned. "The floor? You did that with your light sword?" She shrugged. "It can be fixed. There was no permanent damage. You did not injure yourself?"

He shook his head. "No. But my carelessness is inexcusable."

"Will Master Qui-Gon be angry with you?"

Surprised by the question, Obi-Wan shook his head. "No. A Jedi Master does not get angry with an apprentice. That would only teach the Dark Side. But, he will be disappointed in me."

"Aaaah." She nodded and turned back to a bush and resumed plucking small dark, multi-lobed berries and putting them into a small wicker basket. "I see. Only a Sith Master would use their anger to teach an apprentice."

Obi-Wan did not know what to say. He supposed that was true, but why would she comment about Sith?

"Has the Creative Committee adjourned?"

"For today." She reached into the bush to retrieve a last few ripe berries in the back. "Master Qui-Gon is consulting with the Castle Custodians; he wishes some special arrangements for the transport of Darth Yarr's artifacts."

"What arrangements?"

Sebo put the little basket into a larger one containing greens and fruits and roots that she had already picked from the garden. "I did not ask. You will have to ask him."

They both turned at the soft hum of the lift, distinctive from the natural sounds of plants and wind outside. Obi-Wan went back inside and took a position, arms folded into the sleeves of his robe, facing Qui-Gon as he emerged from the floor. His Master's eyes went to the black gash on the floor as he stepped away from the pillars around the lift. Obi-Wan went to his knees and bowed his head low, his braid touching the floor, and back up, still on his knees before speaking.

"I have failed to follow your teachings, my Master." Carelessnes with a lightsaber required a formal apology and accounting. He looked up at his Master's face.

"I see." Qui-Gon folded his arms into the sleeves of his dark brown robe. "What happened?"

Obi-Wan continued looking up at him as he spoke. "I was practicing lunging forms, and I became suddenly dizzy. I did not drop my lightsaber as I fell."

"The damage can be repaired. I will no longer live here after the Mystery is revealed in the Play."

Sebo's quiet voice came from behind, but Obi-Wan kept his eyes forward as she continued.

"This place will be modified to allow for the Castle tours. It will be very popular for a long time. I will become a scholar Venerate, either here or at a university. It will be my choice of where. It is considered a promotion."

"Indeed." Qui-Gon seemed to consider this. "But that is no concern of ours." There was a long pause. "You are finished with the garden for today?"

Sebo walked around Obi-Wan, her basket of produce in her arms. Her eyes shifted back and forth between Master and apprentice, the dismissal in Qui-Gon's tone clear.

"I am." She suddenly shoved the basket at Qui-Gon and his arms automatically came up to take it. She went to the lift and left, her eyes on Qui-Gon the whole way down. When she was gone Qui-Gon turned back to his Padawan.

"Obi-Wan," he began before looking down at the basket of food. He went to the food prep area and put it on the table there. He shrugged off his robe, put it aside and then started loosening his belt.

"We will train," he stated. "Without lightsabers. I believe some exercise will sharpen your mindfulness." Putting aside his belt and lightsaber he unwound his obi. Obi-Wan joined him at the table and began to stripping down to bare chest as well.

"Sebo said that you were making special arrangements for the transport of the remains of the Sith holocron."

"Yes. I was. We will transport the artifacts in a sealed container."

Obi-Wan put his tunic on the pile on the table. "Will I be able to see it before it is sealed?"

Qui-Gon stripped his undertunic off his broad shoulders. "No. And we will not speak of this again, Obi-Wan." The undertunic went on the pile. Obi-Wan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He bowed his head.

"Yes, Master."

* * *

**= = = End Part 16**


	17. Chapter 17

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 17**

* * *

Obi-Wan woke. It was early morning, the sky outside the thin white curtains was brightened by the coming day and Maarzim's largest moon hanging over the forested hills along with one of the smaller ones over the plain. He and Qui-Gon had trained and meditated for the rest of the previous day and part of the evening, stopping only to eat and then wash before retiring early to opposite sleeping areas in the apartment. But while Obi-Wan settled down to sleep, he saw the outline of his Master sitting up in meditation.

The air in the apartment was fresh and cool, but warm under the coverings. It was tempting to stay, but Obi-Wan threw them off and rose. Bare feet on the cold wood floor, he went to the fresher. He saw his Master sitting on the bench at the end of the sleeping platform, head up, eyes closed, meditating. Exactly in the same place he had been the night before.

While he went about his usual morning business in the fresher Obi-Wan wondered if it was likely that his Master had meditated the whole night. Jedi Masters certainly did that. But it was just as likely that he retired late and rose early. He had no doubt about what Qui-Gon was contemplating.

It had to be about Darth Yarr's holocron.

Qui-Gon must have learned something about it during his meeting with the Creative Committee. But there had been no compromise in his stern expression the day before. Obi-Wan knew that to even hint about the holocron in passing would be disobedient. It was rumored that the Jedi Archives had Sith artifacts, live ones, not broken pieces, in their deepest and most secure vaults and that only the Jedi Council and the most senior Masters were ever allowed to view them. Qui-Gon was a Master senior enough to be included among them. In fact, he almost certainly was since he had been assigned to this mission.

Obi-Wan finished and slipped out of the fresher. The room was growing lighter, the sky noticeably bluer. His Master had not moved. He quietly padded back to his side of the apartment and sat cross-legged on the padded bench at the end of his own sleeping platform. Straightening, he relaxed his shoulders, feeling every part of his body. If the Force would give him an answer about Darth Yarr's holocron, he would gladly accept it.

He closed his eyes and cleared his mind.

* * *

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* * *

Sebo arrived to tend the garden as Obi-Wan finished putting away the cleaned dishes from their breakfast. Wearing her usual pale yellow pants and long shirt and scarf, hands clasped before her, she inclined her head to them.

"Good morning, Qui-Gon. I hope you are well. And I hope that you might join me in the garden. I thought we might discuss . . ." Her eyes shifted toward Obi-Wan, standing by the table, watching with interest. " . . . Director Tykon's offer for you to participate in the History Play."

Obi-Wan's eyebrows rose.

"There is nothing to discuss," Qui-Gon rose from his chair, "Since I will not be participating."

Sebo shrugged. "I told Director Tykon that I would ask. I did not promise him any results."

He looked at his Padawan. "Obi-Wan, go downstairs. You should be able to exercise there."

Obi-Wan drew in a breath, but stopped whatever he was about to say. He bowed his head. "Yes, Master." First going to his sleeping area to retrieve his robe, he went to the lift. Neither Jedi Master or Maarzim Venerate said anything until he was gone, the lift hatch closed and sealed flush to the floor.

"I have been wondering about what happened yesterday." Sebo strolled toward the table and paused to touch Qui-Gon's robe, hanging off of his chair.

"You have a question," he stated.

Her eyes looked up at him. "Yes." She moved beyond the table and clasped her hands before her before speaking. "You saw something, when I revealed Darth Yarr's lightsaber. And I am burning to know what it was."

He looked her up and down, but did not answer.

"Is it something that Jedi do not discuss with outsiders?" she persisted.

"Yes."

She waited for more, but he saw no reason to go on. Her face clouded with annoyance. She went to a food prep area, slid open a cabinet and took out a basket. "I can guess." She marched out to the garden. Qui-Gon glanced down at his robe, running his hand on the soft, textured fabric before leaving it behind to follow Sebo outside. While there were wide patches of blue sky visible, the sun was overcast with gray and white clouds hanging low over the forested mountans.

His boots clumped heavily on the boards of the verdanda. Coming around a tall, dark green and thickly-leafed bush, he found her, a simple tool in hand, snipping dead leaves into a bucket, the food-gathering basket laid aside.

"It would not be wise to speculate."

"Why?" Still annoyed, she lowered her garden tool.

"Because you will be wrong."

"Really? I don't think so." She claimed a few more withered leaves for her bucket. "I know you felt something. I saw it in your eyes. They were almost wild. And they were not seeing me."

"Did you see anything?"

The tool went down again. "No," she admitted. "I saw nothing. I felt . . . nothing. At least nothing other than what I usually feel when I speak the Mystery."

"Do you do it often?"

"No." She smiled at him. "Only for specific occasions. The investiture of Venerates to the Castle when we reveal the Mysteries. Yarr's relics are hardly the only Mystery sealed down below, though her Mystery is only revealed to senior Venerates. And, of course, on the year anniversary of Darth Yarr's fall. And Nirid's reclaimation."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "That is not possible for a Sith."

"Why?"

"The Sith follow the Dark Path to their own destruction, after they have destroyed the lives of many others. They don't just take on a new name when they fall to the Dark Side; the people they once were are consumed and remade into Dark Lords. They are changed forever once the lust for power is burned into them.

"So you think that this," she gestured to herself, "my life," and to the garden and apartment, "is all just a myth? Do you think that little of me now?"

"Yes," he answered directly."While it might be a faniciful and romantic tale that a Sith could be reclaimed by love. It could not happen. And this fantasy that you perpetuate is offensive to me."

He looked around at the peaceful green garden, reached up to touch the long slender leaves of an overhanging plant and the flowers in white cluster. "Anyone who goes down the Dark Path leaves a trail of destruction in their wake, lives ended and twisted in worse ways than death. A Sith gains strength from subjugating and destroying others and they desire that more than their own lives." He towered over Sebo who had backed up against the plant beds. "To commemorate any Sith, as you do, is to also commemorate their acts." He backed up, allowing her an escape if she wished it. "No Sith would, or could forske their desire for more and more power to live a peaceful life here."

Unmoving, she glared back up at him. "Not even if they were exiled as a prisoner? That even if she still desired her old power, that Nirid no longer had a choice?"

Qui-Gon shook his head. "No. This place could never hold a Sith."

She looked very skeptical. "And why not?"

"Because it could never hold a Jedi."

She quirked a smile up at him. He couldn't help smiling back. Then he inhaled deeply, throwing his head back, feeling the Force, a great, rising stream of light rising up through his body. Effortlessly, he swung his arms, down and up and the light carried him high into the air. He spread his arms wide, letting it carry him up and around and down, his feet landing, his knees bending, the Force placing him exactly where he needed to be.

Qui-Gon looked up at the tower. High overhead, amidst the bushes and the rows of decoractive and dangerous spikes that ringed the tower, Sebo stared down, her mouth open, her eyes wide.

Qui-Gon whirled about, the Force carrying him again, practically dancing over the roof of the Castle. One. Two. Three. Four steps. A final leap into the air. His arms out again, he pulled his legs into a tight roll, going around and around until the flow of light pulled him upright again, his boots solidly landed on stone, again, his knees bending, the Force easily absorbing the impact.

"Aaah!"

Four very surprised young people in loose, pastel pants and tunics leaped back from the Jedi who had just landed in their midst. Others beyond them on the other garden paths stared at him in shock.

Qui-Gon again looked up to the tower, but Sebo was gone.

He strode toward the large open doors leading into Tamwa Hall. Crew and cast member from the Play jumped out of his way. Even with the quarantine and the delay in rehersals, they were allowed out for exercise. His Padawan met him at the door.

"Master!"

He held up a warning hand, not slowing down. "Stay here, Obi-Wan." But a few steps later he slowed, stopped and went back. He stood close, towering over the young man.

"Obi-Wan, if I have not returned by sundown, and if you cannot locate me, you are to inform the Jedi Council immediately and have them send someone to assist you. Do you understand?"

Eyes as wide as the dancers' Obi-Wan's mouth opened.

"Do you understand, Obi-Wan?" he demanded.

Obi-Wan's mouth closed and he responded with short, jerky head bow. "Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon whirled around again, striding across the hall to the large staircase up to the gallery, through a doorway, down a corridor to a spiral staircase. He went round and round to the base below ground. He turned left to a blank wall and raised his hand, pulling it left to right and it was as if it touched the rough surface, the Force felt so solid on his palm. The mechanisms inside the wall surrendered and it smoothly slid aside. He entered.

The gray door at the end of the stone corridor yielded to him as well. He descened, down and down, the long echoless stairways, the lights flitting on and off as he went. Finally reaching the bottom, he strode down the narrow corridor to the anteroom to the Hall of Mysteries. He pointed as he approached and the heavy doors parted, the stone as thick as the breadth of his shoulders, the lights coming on transformed the blackness inside into the simple sacred room from the day before. Going to the center of the patterned floor, he turned around, raising his arm, sweeping a complete circle. The walls were featureless between the columns, but a rough heat touched his palm and the panel concealing Darth Yarr's artifacts slid aside. He stepped up to it carefully. The compartment was a simple stone cube recess, the metal tray of artifacts on the bottom. He reached out, fingers extended toward the lightsaber.

He closed his hand, lowered it and stepped back to the center of the room. He went to his knees. Closing his eyes, he raised his hands, palms out. The tray and its contents rose up and out of the recess and floated to him, the Force a sheen of power, extending out from him. But the touch of the Force on it was no different than on the floor or walls around him. The ancient Sith artifacts were more ordinary and unremarkable than the Hall of Mysteries itself. The floor and walls had very slightly different hues of age and use.

The tray came to rest on the floor before him as the sounds of running footsteps intruded on his senses, descending and getting louder.

"Qui-Gon Jinn!" Sebo's voice cracked over a high pitch of outrage. He did not move or respond to her in any way. She gasped, panting, her feet slapping the floor as she stopped.

"Aaah!" He sob of anguish was followed the grinding of heavy stone on stone, the doors to the Hall of Mysteries closing. When he opened his eyes and turned his head to her, she had her back to the door, now looking the same as the fixed walls of the chamber.

"How DARE you!" Her outrage burst from her in a near shriek. She pushed away from the walls, her pale yellow scarf disarrayed and hanging loose over her shoulders. "To just come in here as you please? And you _left the doors open!_" She waved back at the closed entryway. "If I did anything like that I would rightfully be cast out! Defrocked and forbidden to ever set foot in any of the Living History Lands. Have my name and whole life banished from any archive to leave my memory to wither and die to ashes." She shook her hand at him. "You have taken too much liberty of our hospitality." Arms extended, she dove forward.

Fzz-zzzz-tttt!

Qui-Gon's lightsaber was off his belt and activated in a flash. He did not even extend his arm, but she threw herself backward away from the tray of artifacts and from the deadly green blade pointing at her.

"It is no less a sacrilege for you than it is for me to see a Sith holocron venerated, concealed and hoarded intact." He flicked off the lightsaber and clipped it back to his belt. Yarr's holocron was nestled on black cloth between the mask and the lightsaber hilt. "They are too dangerous to be in the possession of non-Jedi."

Glaring scornfully down at him, Sebo stayed back. "You have seen so many of them, have you?"

Qui-Gon lifted his eyes to her. "I have."

The derision drained from her face.

"Are you surprised?" he asked. Raising his arm, he slowly passed his hand, palm down, over the holocron. "The Jedi Order has Sith holocrons in the most secure parts of our Archives." He pinned her with a hard stare. "This is something that is not spoken of outside the Jedi Order. And only then among the Council and senior Masters. I would expect you to keep this confidence."

She tidied her scarf around her neck, put her hands together, palms pressed to each other. "I am the vessel of the sacred past, the Mystery that I guard with my life."

Qui-Gon nodded, accepting her vow. "A Sith makes a holocron for the same reasons that a Jedi does. To preserve knowledge. But not just data, it holds the essence of what they know, and what they are. And imbued with the Force, they are alive in their own way. They can only be made, un-made and accessed by those skilled in the Jedi arts.

"A Sith holocron contains all the desire, the ambition, the evil that drives its maker. The Dark Side of the Force is a path to unspeakable power that leaves no room for compassion or love. It is the antithesis of them. It is a power that needs to dominate and twists the thoughts of its possessor to delight in achieving more and greater power. All other beings become insignificant at best, useful tools possibly, or fodder for the Sith's ambition, blind to any other pleasure but the power of the Dark Side, but _always_ craving more."

Yarr's holocron wobbled before rising up in the air under the Jedi's hand.

"That is what I felt yesterday in this Hall. For one instant, before it vanished." He had averted his eyes from it before but now he dared to look deep into it's center. The edges of its cube shape were sealed in tarnished gold metalloid. Silver lines and etching spidered out in patterns over parts of gold-tinted, semi-tanslucent sides, stained with black soot on the inside as if a circuit within had burned out. It was clearly very old, but now, examining it closely, he felt nothing from it, as if it were merely a decorative bauble.

"Did you see her?" Sebo whispered loudly, stepping forward in the silent, sealed room. "I know that Jedi see visions." She leaned close, her voice urgent. "Did you see her? Did you see Nirid?" Her tone held the yearning of decades of privation and isolation.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "No. I did not see the past. Only the Dark Side." He raised his other hand and slowly brought it up inder the holocron while lowering the hand above. They got closer and closer to the holocron until he hesitated, just short of actually touching it. He let out a long exhale . . . .

. . . . it dropped into his palm.

It was as cool and dense as a stone, metal and smooth ceramic. He closed his eyes and stroked the top of it, feeling the fine lines of edges, angles and faces. He inhaled, the Force solid and calm within him; slow and dliberate, it spread up to his arm, his hand, the fingers touching the holocron that warmed under his touch.

He gave it nothing. His fingertips on the outside felt the barrenness on the inside. It was well worn, a hard, fixed center, smooth as if melted, but ordinary and inert. Drawing the Force tighter into himself, more discipline than power, he felt Sebo, very close to him, intensly alive. And outward from her, the room and far above the Castle and its inhabitants.

The holocron gave him nothing in return.

He inhaled deeply again. And extended himself down through his fingers as he did when he held his lightsaber. The holocron became warm in his hands. But the only life in it was his own reflection.

He opened his eyes. A gentle blue-green glow emanated from the center of the holocron, shining on Sebo's face. Sighing, he let it go and the light faded.

"There is nothing here." He put the holocron back in its place on the tray. "I do not understand." It was the same as his meditations, late into the night and early that morning, he could sense no trace of that flash of evil, as if it had never been there at all.

Looking disappointed, Sebo straightened, her eyes on the tray on the floor before the Jedi.

"The Jedi Archives has Sith holocrons far older than this one and they are still very active and very dangerous." He sat back with an exhale of frustration. "The power of the Sith does not fade this completely in time." He looked up at Sebo who smiled serenely down at him. "It feels as if this holocron was never used. I do not understand."

"Then perhaps, Qui-Gon, Nirid and Keths' love was stronger than you thought after all."

Shaking his head, Qui-Gon climbed to his feet. Then he bent to retrieve the tray. Sebo stopped him.

"I should do it."

He stepped back while she picked it up and went to the recess in the stone wall. But she stopped, and narrowed her eyes at him.

"Please, Qui-Gon, Turn around."

He tilted his head at her, a bit surprised by the futileness of her request.

"Please," she repeated.

Sighing, he turned around, obliging her ritual. He heard the stone close up on Yarr's artifacts. She rejoined him in the center of the floor.

"I regret that you are so offended by me and our History. Why do you hate them so much?"

"I do not hate them," he snapped back without thinking. And then immediately he regretted the obvious contradiction between his words and tone. Anger and hate were the tools of the Dark Side. "At least, I strive not to.

"But the peaceful life you lead in your tower is a complete contradiction to everything that the Sith were. I cannot believe that you comprehend anything of their true nature. So, I find this pretense that you maintain here to be . . ." he paused, searching for a kinder word, but none came to him, " . . . pathetic."

She half smiled, pretensiously wise. "You don't know everything."

She went toward the door. Raising his arm, he waved his hand, the Force easily pushing the immese door aside. Sebo whirled around to glare back at him.

"Sebo!"

Custodian Tykon rushed forward. And then stopped at the threshold as if there was a force field. She fell to her knees, rushing through an entry prayer at barely intelligible speed. Stunningly spry for a woman of her great bulk, she leapt up again, her huge bosom bouncing.

"Sebo!"

Her fellow Venerate smiled, just as amused by Custodian Tykon's performance as Qui-Gon was.

"Are you, are you well? Did, did - - " her voice firmed up, going low and ominous remarkably quickly as she glared at Qui-Gon "did anything happen?"

"No," she answered, the picture of innocence. "At least . . . . nothing that did not need to happen."

Eyes flicking around the room, Tykon looked unsatisfied. "Then we will leave."

The two women took positions at the open door, Tykon's face stern while Sebo grinned. Qui-Gon cooperated better with this part of the ritual. He fell to his knees and accepted their permission to leave. Once the doors to the Hall of Mysteries were closed, Qui-Gon preceded them up the long stairs, the two women following.

"I was told," Custodian Tykon began, "that there was some kind of disturbance."

"There was a bit," Sebo confessed. "Qui-Gon needed to discuss some Jedi mysteries that could not be spoken anywhere else. And that cannot be shared."

"Well, I suppose that would be proper," Tykon grumbled, trudging up the stairs, She raised her voice. "And I suppose that it is proper for Jedi to leap off of their Temple on Coruscant as well."

Built up over thousands of years by many, many generations of Jedi, the Temple was a mammoth structure that dwarfted the Naardin Castle, but still, jumping from its parapits or towers was not an unusual occurance though it was generally frowned upon.

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed with a grin that the women behind him could not see, "And it is quite exhilarating."

* * *

**= = = End Part 17**


	18. Chapter 18

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 18**

* * *

Obi-Wan sat with Yana and her friends in a foursome on the floor of Tamwa Hall. Other peformers and Play crew members sat together in their own groups where the Castle staff had told them to sit. Even the people working on the stage beyond the sound-muffling field wall were idle, sitting in small groups, waiting for something to happen.

After Qui-Gon left him to wonder what his instructions meant, Yana, Timoz and Jutwa found him. The three dancers greeted him warmly, though they did not touch him. Obi-Wan wasn't sure if it was deference to his rank or fear that he still might be contagious. The quarantine did not seem to have changed the Castle routine much. Access was already restricted because of the Play preparations. But the auditions were still suspended until confirmation of no new sephrada cases, giving the performers some time off, though the stage crew continued their construction work.

Very soon after Qui-Gon left, Yana pointed at the gallery overlooking the hall. When Obi-Wan looked, he saw Sebo, her pale yellow clothes distinctive from the performers, who all seemed to have been issued the same loose tan pants, light gray tunics and plain beige shoes. The performers were in awe of her, which initially surprised Obi-Wan. But Sebo lived the life of the exiled Lady of the Tower. She was rarely seen outside of it since she had taken her position decades ago. She was also the senior Venerate for the History Play, something that Yana and her friends would only talk about in hushed tones.

Soon after Sebo followed Qui-Gon down the entry to a corridor, Castle staff in blue tunics and robes appeared; they shouted orders for everyone to not move, stand and sit wherever they were. Any violators were to be considered for expulsion from the Living History Lands. Everyone involved in the Play immediately did as they were told. Obi-Wan was not sure if the edict applied to him, but he followed their instructions anyway.

What had his Master done?

While they waited, Yana, Jutwa and Timoz speculated about the possible new parts for the Play.

"Will there be new auditions for the new parts?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Oh, no," Yana shook her head. "_If_ there are any new parts they won't be major. The main characters are set."

"And they won't be big parts, but they could be solos." Timoz grinned at the prospect of a new prize to win.

"That'll depend on who's doing the changes," Jutwa added with a grimace. "I hope it's Tykon; I don't think Mwemas likes me for anything."

"Of course it'll be Tykon. You've heard what they've been saying," Timoz finished in a near whisper. Both Yana and Jutwa winced back.

"What have they been saying?" Obi-Wan finally asked, leaning toward them.

"There've been a lot of replacements on the Creative Committee and that almost never happens," Yana confessed after glancing around them, as if she did not want the secret to escape from their little group. "Kiklum Gwos was the original writer and composer, but she didn't get along with Tykon. And then they brought in Lizm Was Tur after she left, but he didn't last either. Then they brought in Aka, Smetin and Mwemas because they've all worked with Tykon before."

"And the Chancellor is supposed to have threatened to cancel the History Play if Tykon couldn't get along with them." Timoz leaned into their little comspiracy as well.

"Even the Chancellor wouldn't have done that. Tykon would've been stuck here until Yarr's Mystery was revealed and that could've been years. It's fine if Gwos and Was Tur have to stick it out; they're not that popular. And they're not that good. But Tykon? He's too big."

"Why would Tykon have to stay here if the Play were cancelled?"

The three performers looked back at him. "Because if you've been told the Mystery, you're bound to the Living History Lands, like the Venerates. You can't leave until it's revealed, no matter how long it takes," Yana explained.

Timoz pointed upward, in the general direction of the Mountain part of the Castle. "Gwos and Was Tur are supposed to be staying in a cottage around here and they haven't been seen since they resigned."

Jutwa nodded. "They'll be at the Play for sure."

Obi-Wan was quite certain that this little detail had not been in his mission briefing. Had they told Qui-Gon the Mystery? If the Play was cancelled by the quarantine, would they be obliged to stay? He doubted the Jedi Council would agree to that. Was that why Qui-Gon had so suddenly jumped out of the tower? He looked up to where Qui-Gon and Sebo had gone.

"I hope they don't cancel the Play," he said seriously.

"They won't," Yana said with confidence. "Tykon's too important. He's _Tykon_. There would be 'Free Ebsi Tykon' protests all over the Living History Lands if they tried. He's supposed to be working on a holo-series right after this."

"Even Tykon isn't bigger than History," Timoz muttered. Yana gave her a cross glare, but she did not back down. "I'm not down-grading Tykon, but he hasn't directed or written any big projects in over five years, not since 'The Sealed Door'."

"What about 'Green Leaves'?"

"That one wasn't his; he was just in it! And, yeah, he stole the whole show, but it was only a small part and he was just acting like himself. He hasn't written a major work for a few years now." Timoz leaned forward. "And I heard from Gwoor that Twunar wasn't even sick after all."

"What has that got to do with anything?" Yana demanded.

"Because the quarantine gives Tykon and a few of the other Directors more time to work on their Plays. Tykon's supposed to have made a deal so Twunar could have an excuse for not being in the Play and the Healers went along with it because they want the quarantine, too."

"He wouldn't do that!" Yana hissed.

"Sssssshhhhhh!"

Both women turned their ire on Jutwa Eris for a second before they realized what he was looking at. One of the Castle Custodians frowned in their direction, instantly ending the rising tempers.

"Aaah! Something's happening!" He pointed..

The line of pale blue tunics that blocked the doorway where Qui-Gon had gone broke up. A moment later Qui-Gon appeared, taller than the others, his pale tunics standing out from the blue ones that hastily moved out of his way. He strode down the gallery. A voice called out and the Jedi stopped, turned around, his long brown hair hanging down his broad back.

Obi-Wan's three companions gasped and pointed when they saw Sebo's yellow tunic among the blues. Custodian Tykon's large bulk joined Sebo and Qui-Gon while the other Castle staff left the gallery. A group came down the stairs to the Great Hall and spread out, speaking quietly to the others.

Director Tykon, in tight yellow pants and green shirt, appeared from the archway leading to the rest of the Castle, spotted the people in the gallery and ran up the stairs, his assistant, Pecku right behind him. Soon after that, Sebo left with Tykon and Pecku. Qui-Gon turned to go and then stopped. He looked down at Tamwa Hall.

"Obi-Wan."

He leaped up, nodding a farwell to the others and sweeping his robe off the floor as he ran across the Hall and up the stairs. The Castle staff stepped aside for him as he passed. Down in the Hall, the same person who had gone about announcing that everyone should stop what they were doing and stand or sit in place was now calling out that everyone should resume their previous activities.

Qui-Gon met him in the gallery. "The quarantine will end the day after tomorrow if there are no reports of new sickness. We will spend that time in the tower until we are needed again for the next audition." Qui-Gon did not wait for his answer and he fell in step behind as they headed upstairs.

Obi-Wan said nothing as they went up the long spiral staircase. Qui-Gon's long legs could climb up two steps as a time, so Obi-Wan had to quick-trot after him. He kept his eyes up at his Master's back while he mentally went over what he would have to say.

As soon as the lift hatch closed, Obi-Wan took a deep breath.

And then let it out again as Qui-Gon headed for the fresher.

Alone in the open central area of the apartment, he turned around in a circle, throwing his head back. He bounced on his feet, to dispel the queasy chill in his stomach. He had to ask. It was not just curiosity Qui-Gon's instruction for him to notify the Temple if he did not return by sundown meant that he expected danger. Was it the holocron?

At the moment, the only danger Obi-Wan could sense was the severe rebuke he would get from Qui-Gon for defying his instruction to not ask about the Sith holocron again. It was so clear and simple, when the senior Masters in the Temple instructed Padawans to question their own Masters if they felt they were wrong. But in real life, it was very difficult.

_The Master must learn from the Padawan, just as the Padawan learns from the Master._

That sounded so easy in theory.

The fresher door opened.

"Master."

Obi-Wan stood up straight, arms formally folded into the opposite sleeves of his robe. At first, Qui-Gon only glanced at him, but then he stopped and turned to face him.

"Padawan."

"You have returned before sundown. Will there be any need to contact the Jedi Temple in the future?" That seemed a safe enough inquiry to start with.

"No. My concerns were unfounded." Qui-Gon looked only slightly annoyed and his tone was neutral.

"Your warning implied a danger. Should I not know what that danger is? To be prepared for it?"

There was a pause, Qui-Gon's dark blue eyes lowering thoughtfully.

"No." He walked around his surprised apprentice to go to the small table by the food prep area.

"Master," Obi-Wan followed him. "If there is a danger, I should be told about it."

Qui-Gon picked up his robe from the back of one of the chairs. "I have confirmed that there is no danger. There is nothing more to be said about it."

"Is it Darth Yarr's holocron?" he persisted.

"Obi-Wan!"

He startled, but he did not back down, matching Qui-Gon's glare with his own. After a long silence it was the older man who broke the stand-off. Putting his robe back, he gestured to the other chair. Stiff-backed, Obi-Wan sat down with him.

Qui-Gon stared off past his right ear for a moment before speaking in a much more subdued tone.

"The Maarzim have more of Yarr's artifacts than just the holocron. They will all be released to us after the performance of the History Play."

"What else do they have?"

Qui-Gon held up a hand as if to ward off the question. "I am not at liberty to discuss anything about Sith artifacts with you. You know that."

Obi-Wan reluctantly nodded. Even the artifacts of the Sith, especially their holocrons, were Dark and corrupting, though Obi-Wan still wondered what that really meant. "Why were they concealed here for so long? Why did the Council not know about them?"

"I cannot discuss that either, though the Maarzim's motives will be revealed in the History Play." Qui-Gon leaned forward, elbows on the table. "The Maarzim version of the defeat of Darth Yarr differs significantly from what is in the Archives."

"How? Was Yarr not defeated?"

"I am bound by our hosts to not reveal anything about it, Obi-Wan. The Mystery will be revealed in the Play. Then it will up to the Council to decide on its validity." He looked almost defeated.

"Is this Mystery true?"

Shaking his head, Qui-Gon looked off past him again. "I do not know."

They sat in silence; Obi-Wan looked out the window, past the larger sleeping area, to the forested mountains and wondered how the Jedi Archives could be wrong, especially about a Sith, or what the Jedi Council would think when they reported the difference. That reminded him about something Yana and her friends told him.

"Master, the performers told me that anyone who is told a Mystery is forbidden to leave the Living History Lands, at least until it is revealed. I do not recall that in our mission briefing."

"Nor do I. Though I suppose that could be a problem." Qui-Gon looked completely unconcerned.

"Should we not tell the Maarzim that you cannot stay, even if the Play is canceled?"

Now his Master openly smiled. "Why? Nothing like that has happened."

"But - - "

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's raised a hand stopped him. "This is primarily a diplomatic mission, and one key part of diplomany is to never act on crises that have not occurred. We will be mindful of it, yes. But if the Play proceeds, then the issue never needs to come up." He sat back in his chair, arm resting on the table, and smiled. "Though we will have to report to the Jedi Council that they should be more careful about their agreements.

* * *

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Fog rolled in that night, obscuring the moons-lit mountain top, then the forests, finally settling in around the Castle. Hazy blobs of light glowed from below. Looking down from the tower garden, Qui-Gon Jinn watched the lights of the town and then the Castle slowly disappear into the dark, drifting puffs. The air chilled with the oncoming moisture that freshened the air. The fog muffled the usual background night creatures and noises of civilization, a generator hum, almost too low to be heard but still felt, the distant movement of vehicles, an occasional shout.

He heard the lift activating, but he did not move, letting Obi-Wan welcome their guest.

"Master?" Obi-Wan spoke from the door. "Sebo wishes to speak with you."

He turned his head without really looking and nodded. Sebo joined him at the railing. Obi-Wan retreated back inside.

"I hope you're not going to jump again."

Qui-Gon shrugged and smiled. "No. That might be . . . . excessive."

"It was excessive the first time you did it. So, I do hope you don't do it again."

They stood together in silence of a time and the world below slowly disappeared under the rising fog bank.

"Director Tykon desperately wants you to participate in the Play."

Qui-Gon inhaled the crisp air through his nose. "Then he will have to learn to live with the disappointment."

"He is used to getting his way."

That was obvious to Qui-Gon. "Do you wish me to participate?"

"Would that change your mind?"

"No." He looked down at her, the light from inside shining on one side of her face. "Why was it necessary to reveal the Mystery to me? I have ceded my vote on the Committee to you. You did not need my permission to make the changes in the Play."

"Tykon thought you would agree to do it, if you knew the true History. And it's tradition. You are an honored Venerate for this Play, so you must be on the Committee. If you are on the Committee then you must attend. What would be the point otherwise? And aside from the additions to the Play, Director Tykon wishes to use the relics when the Mystery is revealed."

"How?"

"The lightsaber, the mask, the gauntlets; he wants me wearing them in the shadow dance when Nirid renounces herself as Yarr."

Frowning, he turned to her. "A lightsaber is not a weapon to be used by anyone other than a Jedi."

Sebo was unfazed by his disapproval. "I have handled it for decades. The Venerates of this Castle have for millennia." Her smile turned mischievious. "I have never had any mishaps. Like damaging a floor, for example."

Qui-Gon's frown sank into a glower.

"But I have been wondering," she tilted her head up at him, "Yarr's lightsaber never holds a charge for very long. I always have to have a spare power pack for it. The solemnity of any ritual is always spoiled when Yarr's lightsaber sputters out. But I have never, ever heard about Jedi needing to recharge their lightsabers. Never. I have even researched it. I've found nothing. Blasters and other weapons need to be recharged, or reloaded. But never lightsabers. Not even in stories. When do you do it?"

Qui-Gon returned her smile. Hanging on his belt, his own lightsaber had the same power-pack that he had put in when he first built it. When he activated it, he wielded it as not just a weapon, but as a part of himself, the Force flowing through him, guiding him, giving him and the blade an inexhaustible source of energy from all the life around him and beyond.

"We don't."

* * *

**= = = End Part 18**


	19. Chapter 19

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 19**

* * *

_"The Maarzim have more of Yarr's artifacts than just the holocron. They will all be released to us after the performance of the History Play."_

Qui-Gon's voice echoed in the darkness behind Obi-Wan's eyelids. He listened for more, but did not reach for it. If the Force had something to reveal to him, then it would. Or not. It was not for him to decide. The voice returned.

_"The Maarzim have more of Yarr's artifacts than just the holocron. They will all be released to us after the performance of the History Play."_

The words floated in darkness, colorless and separate from reality.

_"The Maarzim have more of Yarr's artifacts than just the holocron."_

He saw shapes, pale auras of Yarr's mask, long ropes, gloves, a black cape, a cube. Everything was cold and dusted with frost in pale blue light.

_"The Maarzim have more of Yarr's artifacts than just the holocron."_

The light changed to warm yellow and the frost faded, but it brought no life to the Sith remains. They were old and worn and . . . . passionless.

_" . . .more of Yarr's artifacts than just the holocron."_

Shadows whisked by, hands grabbing the artifacts as they went, people laughing as they ran by the bin of Falgan's Play props.

_" . . . the holocron."_

_" . . . the holocron."_

_" . . . the holocron."_

"Huh!"

Obi-Wan's eyes flew open. He sat cross-legged on the padded bench at the end of his sleeping platform. It was morning, the windows bright white with fog that had not burned off yet.

From the food prep area, Qui-Gon looked back at him, a spilled cup of water at his Master's feet.

"My apologies. I did not mean to disturb you."

Obi-Wan got up. When he first woke up, the darkness beyond the windows was just beginning to turn gray. Even Qui-Gon had not awoken for his morning meditation.

"No, I was finished anyway." In bare feet, he went to the fresher while Qui-Gon slid open cabinets, looking for something to clean up the mess with.

At first he did nothing, just standing in place, his mind frozen on what he had seen in the Force. Then he moved through his usual morning routines, taking his time, relieveing himself, washing up, re-tying his Padawan's lock on the back of his head, re-tying the end of his braid and checking himself in the mirror. Some of the images were bound to be the meaningless clutter that could turn up, but Qui-Gon had taught him that what he felt was most important. And he was now sure of something that Qui-Gon was barred from speaking to him about. And about which he was barred from asking.

Darth Yarr's holocron was not destroyed. It was whole and Qui-Gon had seen it.

* * *

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* * *

"There is a way. Into the Castle." The words echoing from the performer's audition area of Tamwa Hall were followed by a long pause.

Qui-Gon lunged, sweeping the air before him with his lightsaber. Obi-Wan nimbly lept back. Five hovering holo-recorders cirecled them. Pecku and Falgan paced at a safe distance with hand-held controllers. On one side of Tamwa Hall a recognizable stage had emerged from days of construction. The builders had worked through the three full days of the quarantine. On the other side of the Hall the audition voices continued.

"Will you take us? Please, Nirid." A second person answered the first.

"What will you do? Kill our Lord?"

Qui-Gon jumped back, lightsaber blade horizontal in an upward defense against Obi-Wan's downward slash, an arm's length out of reach. On the other side of the Hall the Nirid auditions continued.

"The Sith are evil. How many people has Yarr had put to death?"

That morning, the quarantine had been officially declared over; no new cases of the sephrada virus had been diagnosed. The Healers had successfully pre-empted their predicted epidemic. Healer Mwassil had happily delivered the news to them that morning. They met her and Healer Zhenum at the foot of the tower stairs as they came down after their morning meal. The stouter male healer cast his eyes upward with a thankful sigh that he would not be climbing up to them.

The auditions and preparations for the celebrations in all the Living History Lands were free to continue. When they arrived in the Hall, Pecku met them. The Nirid audition did not have any scenes with lightsabers, but he needed recordings for the new shadown dances. Except for one poisonous glare from Director Tykon, he ignored them as he and a couple of assistants lined the performers up into groups of three and had them read the same scene over and over.

It was obviously something from the beginning of the Play. Keth and Minigan were trying to convince Nirid to help them into the Castle. There was no hint in the dialogue about the Mystery, that Nirid was actually Darth Yarr.

Around them, Tamwa Hall was being transformed into a huge theater. The force field that muffled the noisy stage construction had been taken down. The stage at one end appeared to be finished, with a huge black platform, tilted with the back end noticeably higher than the front. Large black flats with projection walls hung behind it. An area in front of the stage had been fenced off and Qui-Gon spotted Roobi Mwemas and Thwurn Aka there with builders and technicians. Along the sides of the Hall, towers were in various stages of constructions. Daylight still shone down in through the windows, but huge black vertical panels now hung next to them, ready to seal the room from the outside light.

Wearing gray skirt and tunic with a matching gray band holding back his longish hair, Pecku politely asked them to circle each other as they attacked back and forth. They lunged and evaded, their sabers stopping as if their slashes and blocks made contact though their blades never came within an arm's length of each other. Pecku had explained that this was the nature of the shadow dances; they would be stylized lightsaber fights, mirroring the action on stage.

Falgan arrived; Pecku raised his hand and the two Jedi stopped in mid-attack/defend, extinguished their sabers and stepped back. The two men conferred as the floating holo-recorders darted back into a holding pattern above.

Falgan went to his props table and brought back two light sticks. Pecku took them and held them up.

"Could you try it with these? So we can compare? Just do the same things that you've already been doing."

Qui-Gon clipped his lightsaber to his belt and took the offered prop. His Padawan did the same.

Touching the activation button on the silver and black tube, Qui-Gon grimaced at the fake blue lightsaber blade that snapped out. He would have felt better about sparring with a tree branch. Either one would have been just as inert a weapon in his hand, but the mock lightsaber felt especially wrong since it pretended to be something that it wasn't. He gave it a few experimental twirls and swipes.

"The handle should have more weight, to counter-balance the blade," he commented critically.

"Ahhh!" Falgan tapped his own notes down on a hand-held terminal. "Good point. That will make the movement much more natural."

Obi-Wan touched the activation button on the prop in his hand. A glowing, bright red blade shot out. His eyes went wide, crimson reflected in them and he grasped the hilt with both hands.

"Obi-Wan."

Smiling at his apprentice's reaction, Qui-Gon advised him, "It is only a Play prop, my young Padawan. Do your best," he instructed, swiping the air with his own lightstick.

"Yes, Master." He responded with an up and down salute with the fake blade.

Pecku had them repeat all of the same things they had done; he even played some of the recordings he had made of them using their own lightsabers on a hand-held viewer. Falgan made notes and occasionally commented on adjustments he needed to make to his lightsticks.

"Interesting," Pecku told them during a break. "You don't move the same way with these as you do with your own lightsabers."

"Of course not," Qui-Gon confirmed, "these are not lightsabers."

Pecku looked unimpressed with the difference. "Well, I think we can adjust the choreography to compensate."

They all turned to see a tall older man in dark blue tunics, trimmed in silver, that went down to the tops of his blue shoes, approach.

"Venerate Master Qui-Gon Jinn. Venerate Lady of the Tower wishes to speak with you. Privately." The man flicked a respectful glance toward Obi-Wan while keeping his head pointed forward.

"Of course. Obi-Wan, please continue to assist Pecku while I am gone."

He left, following the man up the stairs, past the gallery through a corridor under the tower. They headed toward the Castle archives, history laboratories, preservation studios and administrative offices. They passed through an open courtyard of covered tables surrounded by a tall forest of bushes. Qui-Gon's guide led him back inside, down a corridor, a line of high, colored windows on one side, bare wall on the other. The man touched a wall control, opening a door for Qui-Gon, and then followed him in.

Qui-Gon heard the door lock softly click as they descended a dimly lit stairwell. He stopped at a landing, waiting for his guide to lead him either through a door on that level or further down the stairs. He did neither, standing at attention before the Jedi.

"Venerate Master Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn. I have been instructed to only lead you here. The Venerate Sebo told me that you would be able to open the doors on your own." Then stepping carefully, he turned his back.

Eyebrows raised, Qui-Gon looked about. It was a plain corridor going all the way around the stairs, the walls roughly textured graying-blue with a pattern in black and dark green at the base, matching the railing and steps. There was a skylight high abover and a slight updraft of dusty air. He turned around; behind him was a corner. He closed his eyes, raised his hand. A slight pressure of the Force touched his palm and he drew it across the air at shoulder level. He heard a door softly sliding open. Opening his eyes, he turned his head, but the man in dark blue had not moved.

He crossed into the dark space beyond. Raising one hand, he gestured behind him and a tug of the Force on his fingertips pulled the door closed again. He waited a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. He stood at the end of a corridor built of rough stone blocks with no doors or visible openings. He went to the other end where the corridor turned; light shone in from somewhere. Following the corridor back the same direction he had come, he went toward the other end of that corridor where there was another hall going back again. He wound around three more corridors and turns before he finally came to a black door, a light in the ceiling overhead. There was another identical, illuminated door on the wall at the far end of the hall, a blank dead end next to it.

Looking from one to the other, he walked slowly down this last corridor. He suddenly stopped in the middle and turned his head toward the blank wall. He raised a hand and pulled it across the air. A section of wall, the real door, slid aside. He walked through the portal and with another gesture closed it.

This new room had a short, long entryway leading into a large area with a high ceiling. Long artificial lights, the colors of Maarzim's sun and moons hung down from the ceiling. Other lights shone down on human and humanoid statues in alcoves along the walls. All were physically muscular, smooth and youthful, their scantily clothed bodies posed to reveal various attractive curves and bulges, some of them very obviously sexually aroused. There were stone columns decorated in swirling carvings in the corners.

Turning all the way around, Qui-Gon puzzled at the familiarity of the room, the dark, patterned tapestries, the low tables, chairs and padded lounges along the pale beige walls. At one end of the room, steps leading up to it, was an immense, heavy wooden table with padded benches on either side. It looked like a stage commanding the whole room.

Qui-Gon smiled. This room was very similar to the projected scenery for the stage taking shape on the far end of Tamwa Hall.

"Welcome Jedi."

He turned around. He faced Darth Yarr.

He recognized Sebo in the same black and red costume that Director Tykon's performers had auditioned in. She did not have a youthful dancer's physique, being a bit heavy in the hips and upper arms, but the outfit fit her well. The mask concealed her eyes. She strolled toward him. He supposed that her movements were meant to be seductive, but she was clearly out of practice. When she was within arm's length, he quickly snatched off her mask.

"Oooh!" She clapped her hand to her head where some of her hair had been pulled out.

"If you were a real Sith Lord, I would be obligated to kill you immediately."

Her cheeks flushing, she pulled back. Her graying brown hair was tied back, flat on her head, held in place with a red band. Qui-Gon took the mask in both hands, the eyeless black-and-white face staring up at him. "Is this room also preserved from Yarr's time?"

"Yes." She nodded. "This is where Yarr held court and where Nirid renounced her power. Jedi Keth died on this very floor . . . though the furnishings have been restored many times." She sighed as if she was disappointed in them for not being able to last eight thousand years without help. "It was sealed up when Nirid was exiled to the tower.

"And this is where I have been staying while you occupy it," she admitted.

He looked about. There were some visible metal doors, presumably leading to other rooms. "It is . . . unique. Why did you wish me to see it?"

"You know the Mystery. There was no reason for you not to know. And after the Play, I will no longer preside here, either. Ever again." Her brown eyes stared up at him; there were green highlight in them. "I do not just serve as the Lady of the Tower. I was initiated as Venerate here, to be the living embodiment of Nirid. Ard Darth Yarr."

Her hands grasped her black collar and ripped apart her tunic and armor. Underneath her bare skin was pale and stomach a little paunchy, her breasts were large and round, sagging only a little. She wore mostly metallic circles and thin straps that approximated minimal clothing. The pants came off next and she stepped toward him, locking her eyes on his.

"Darth Yarr's power was a power of passion." Her voice lowered to a husky whisper as she came closer, her eyes alight with religious fervor. "And you were aroused when I revealed Yarr's lightsaber in the Hall of Mysteries."

Qui-Gon drew in a breath, suddenly uncomfortable with her closeness. Frowning he did not answer. She continued.

"I didn't notice. I suppose I've spent too much time in the tower." She quirked a smile. "But Director Tykon saw it. Of course, he did. Roobi Mwemas and Quembu Smetin confirmed it ater." Her eyes ducked down below his waist. "You said you did not see Nirid." She advanced and he backed up. "What did you see?"

Exposed, he did not have an answer. At least, not one he would speak out loud to someone who was so sadly devoted to an idealized memory of the Sith that she felt compelled to dress up as one. He turned his back to her, his body suddenly warm from within. But it was not just disgust, it was also the Force, a nova rising in the closed room of ancient stone; it sucked all the oxygen out with its stifling heat. His shadow suddenly grew huge, stretched out over the table and chairs above him; Outlined in blazing red and orange, the black shape swelled up the wall.

His lightsaber flew off his belt into his hand and activated. Whirling around, he thrust his free hand out to push back at the massive, pulsing fireball hurtling at him.

The fire suddenly snuffed out with a whoosh.

A blinding light remained behind a lone figure on its knees before him. The silence hit him like a blow, leaving white noise in his ears, the room going cold, like vacuum in space. He felt the Force leaving him like air rushing ouf of his lungs. His saber went out, the hilt falling from his numb fingers and clattering away on the floor. He wanted to reach for the power, for life again, but it hurt too much. Tears streamed from his eyes. He was stripped bare of his past, the Force and life itself. He was clean.

Ice crystals forned on the clouds of his breath in the bluish-white light. He sucked in freezing air and it barely gave him sustainence. But it was enough. And it was more than he deserved.

He fell to his knees and the figure kneeling before him reached out a hand, touching the tears frozen on his face.

The air suddenly rushed back, the bright light vanishing into room lighting that now looked as dim as twilight. Ordinary warmth returned. Every table, bench, chair in the room, vase was overturned. Some of the statues were toppled from their alcolves. Sebo stroked his wet cheek with the tip of one finger, her brown eyes wide.

"What did you see?"

* * *

**= = = End Part 19**


	20. Chapter 20

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 20**

* * *

Qui-Gon gaped back at her. He could remember every detail with a clarity beyond the capacity of memory. But he did not know what it meant, the sudden vision. He looked about the room. Dark or Light, places could retain the essence of the Force, an imprint of life that could last much longer than the time since Darth Yarr's fall. And people who used the Force could perceive than imprint.

With a clear mind, a Jedi could devine the source of that life energy and its true nature. But Qui-Gon had meditated on it in the apartment above for days and felt nothing. It was strange; he had been expecting some lingering traces of Yarr's ancient presence and defeat, but there was nothing, as if it had never happened. Ir was possible that he was not strong enough in the Force to sense the imprint of the fall of that long ago darkness, but he had been on missions before he had taken Obi-Wan as his apprentice to much older Sith lairs and had no trouble meditiating on and seeing the aural traces of their distant events and people.

Darkness in the Force could cloud a Jedi's senses and judgement, but the murk of evil could be sensed even if what it concealed could not be, if the Dark Side was present at all. It was the difference between a fog that concealed a threat and a clear day in a place where there was nothing to see.

Qui-Gon ignored Sebo's question, sat back, his legs folded under him and closed his eyes.

Sebo did not ask again. Eventually, she got up and walked away. There was the sound of movement by the walls and he shut the noise out, his focus turned inward. He let all thoughts drop away, even the purpose of his deep meditation, so that his sense of time itself left him. The Force, neither Dark not Light stretched out as a clean, unbroken plane, under and around him, blindingly blue-white and untroubled by the opaque patches of life in the world flowing through it. It was bliss and he felt himself as one of those countless entities, endlessly forming, growing thick and complex before dispersing into new beings. Except . . . .

. . . . Jedi only truly joined the Force at death. Until then, they lived in the material world and Qui-Gon's body weighed him down back with its needs. He inhaled and the Force flowed through his body and limbs and in that instant the weight of a whole planet would be nothing to him. But he did not need to lift planets.

He exhaled, letting his perception of it go, releasing the conscious connection. Feeling his own weight on his legs, folder under him on the hard stone floor, he opened his eyes and then climbed to his feet.

Sebo was gone. The room was not the same. The chairs, benches and tables were lined up along the walls, some of them broken. Some statues lay on the floor, loose pieces swept up next to them. There was a few severed heads, broken hands, fingers and male phalluses. Behind him, the large table on the elevated end of the room was broken in two, the chairs around it damaged, but put back upright.

A side door opened and Sebo emerged wearing her usual pale yellow tunic and shawl. She walked over to him while he walked about, surveying the wreckage. Spotting his lightsaber he raised a hand . . .

. . . . and then lowered it. Calling it to him with the Force seemed unnecessary. He knelt to pick it up, put it on his belt. Sebo faced him when he rose again.

"The Jedi are legendary for their meditations. Now I know why."

He straightened his robe and folded his hands before him. "I am sorry to have inconvenienced you."

She smiled as if he had made a joke. "Inconvenience? I do not know what to call what happened here, but that is not it." She huffed to herself, looking about at the disarray in the room. "Can you answer my question now?"

"Your question?"

"What did you see?" Her tone turned intense.

"I saw . . . the Dark Side. And then . . . it vanished."

"The Dark Side. What does the Dark Side look like?"

"It is desire, fire and passion beyond all reason and disregard for anything else but that. It is fear and hatred of any other life that may challenge or compete with those things. And it is the complete and unrestrained pleasure in the creation, the torment and the destruction of enemies."

Sebo's eyes went wide with wonder. "I see."

"No, you do not." Qui-Gon sharp retort made her jump and she backed up. "This," stalked in a circle around her, waving an arm at the room, "Is a memorial to evil. The Sith are not to be venerated. They were and the Dark Side is evil." He bent close to her ear and she jerked away. "The Jedi Council would have come to claim Yarr's artifacts a long time ago had they known that you not only kept them but also maintained this shrine to her." He paced around behind Sebo. "Are you aware of the history of any other Sith, other than this romantic fantasy that you live in? The worlds they destroyed? The levels of degradations inflicted on their victims?"

He came around to her front. She might have looked less pathetic to him if he sensed any darkness, but he did not.

"No," she admitted. "My allegiance is to this world alone. But you just told me that you saw the Dark Side vanish." She smiled again and he saw the religious gleam in her eyes that she had shown him in her Darth Yarr costume. "Or banished. By Nirid when she renounced the Force for her love."

Qui-Gon stared down at her. The Dark Side banished? . . . . that was exactly what he had felt. But once the Dark took hold, it never let go of those it corrupted. The path to the Dark Side went beyond any vice and any addiction. Those who embraced the Sith were consumed by it.

"That is not possible," he answered, but he could not keep the doubt out of his voice.

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"May we sit here?"

Obi-Wan automatically slid aside to make room, though there was plenty. Noboday sat next to him on the bench. Across the table from him, the expressions of Yana, Jutwa and Timoz turned frosty over their midday meal plates. The newcomer was a male, similer to Timoz but slimmer with longer blond hair. Another performer, a woman took a seat on the bench next to him.

"Hello! I'm Adie Tykon-Tuzi." She had a broad smile, blue eyes, brown skin like Yana and pale blond hair, straight, hanging a little past her shoulders. "This is Lasru Trimwi." She touched her friend's shoulder.

"Hello." Obi-Wan nodded to them before glancing over his shoulder, looking for Qui-Gon. It was already past midday and he was beginning to wonder if his Master's warning from the day before still applied. If he could not locate Qui-Gon by the end of the day should he contact the Jedi Temple? Obi-Wan had already decided that he would, but he sincerely wished to know what to tell them. He only saw the workers in tan and gray tunics, guiding lifters of equipment, setting up towers of lights and fixtures he did not recognize. No Qui-Gon. Yana, Timoz and Jutwa averted their eyes when he turned back.

All of the performers wore the Nirid costume, a long tunic over a lighter-colored, floor-length under tunic in coarsely-woven pale brown colors, like sand, belted at the waist with a dark brown strap and plain sandals of similar material. The tunic hems and sleeves were decorated with a dark blue and white square pattern. The Keth and the Darth Yarr costumes had been more fitted to the body; it had tended to make them all look the same. But the drab, shapeless Nirid costume seemed to bring out all their differences, particularly for the men with broad-shoulders like Jutwa or the women with prominent chests, like Yana.

"Have you ever participated in a Play like this?" Adie asked.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, but my Master has. A holo-drama on Coruscant, years before I became his apprentice."

All of the performers perked up at this news. Obi-Wan put his eating utensil down. Yana leaned forward over the remains on her plate, her brown eyes wide. "Really? Which one?"

"Um," Obi-Wan's brow furrowed, trying to recall the name of the holo-drama that Qui-Gon first mentioned when they were traveling to Maarzim, "Um . . . uh, it was called 'Skyways'. But I haven't seen it." His Master hadn't seen it either. Yana gasped. Timoz and Jutwa joined her with Adie and Larsu adding their own expressions of recognition and amazement.

"'_Skyways'?_" Yana breathed.

"That's one of the holos about Jedi that we studied for our pre-auditions," Adie joined her. "Roetee Zhazem was brilliant in it."

"Did he work with Roetee Zhazem?" Timoz asked in awe.

"Is he in the holo?" Not waiting for an answer, Jutwa looked to his friends. "There were other Jedi in the scene when the hover-platform crashed."

"And at the dinner with the flatulent Gremstor," Larsu added.

"Master Brak'cha was one of Zhazem's last great roles. She practically ran away with the whole story," Adie continued. "She just broke your heart at the end and she did all the action scenes herself." Adie and Larsu looked toward Obi-Wan on the bench next to them.

"I haven't seen it," he repeated.

"You could watch it with us," Yana suggested quickly as if she was trying to beat the others to it. "All our living areas have holo-projectors, so we can study when we're not practicing or auditioning."

"I think there is a holo-projector up in the tower." Aside from the conveniences in the food prep area, Sebo had also shown him the cabinets containing the coms, the public holo-net receiver as well as a large holo-projector system.

A gasp from Adie caught his attention and he turned his head to where she was looking. Qui-Gon descended the stairway down from the gallery and strode across the large hall toward them. But he was intercepted by Pecku and Eris Mwat and a large round man with a tan tunic draped over his bulging belly. They conferred and then Qui-Gon looked over the heads of the other two. He raised a hand.

"I have to go." He was up and out of his seat before they could say anything, but he caught a fleeting glance of their nods and wary stares at his Master. He ran over to them.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon gestured to the two others. "Please assist Pecku and Mwat in their preparations. I will be in the tower, meditating."

"Yes, Master," he answered automatically.

"My Padawan will assist you in whatever you need." Qui-Gon nodded and left, quickly crossing the floor and sweeping back up the wide staircase, leaving four astonished people behind. Pecku shrugged and turned to Obi-Wan.

"Well, we don't really need both of you for this. We've completed most of the physical structure for the stage and we're working on the viewing platforms."

"The viewing platforms?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Where you'll sit. Along with the new Chancellor, her staff and guests, the Castle Venerates and staff." Pecku explained. "This is Gunlan Thwurn," he extended a hand to the large man, who had pale, pink cheeks and thinning gray hair. "He is in charge of all stage structures and can explain the arrangements."

Thwurn pulled out a holo-projector and held it up in one large, meaty hand, a bluish miniature of the completed construction appeared as he started out a narration of the arrangements in a thick, low voice. Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan glimpsed Qui-Gon disappearing from the gallery on his way up to the tower apartment.

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Obi-Wan returned to the apartment just before sundown, intruding on Qui-Gon's meditation. The sky was partially overcast, but clear on the horizon and the golden light from Maarzim's primary star shone on all the pale wooden surfaces casting a warm yellow hue to even out the room's shadows. A fresh breeze rustled among the plants outside. The air in the main castle was dull and artificial compared to the nature-scented atmosphere in the apartment high above it.

Qui-Gon had gained no new insights from long still hours with the Force; he sat on the padded bench in his sleeping area. His Padawan approached carefully.

Opening his eyes, Qui-Gon unfolded his legs and slid off the bench.

"Did the auditions go well?"

"Yes, Master. At least the performers are enthusiastic about the new parts because of the changes in the Play. And they have begun construction of the viewing platforms where we will be seated."

"Indeed." Qui-Gon nodded and went to the food prep area as they spoke. Sebo had come up to pick the day's produce before she called him before their meeting. There was less than the day before, the garden designed to support only one person, but there was plenty of food to choose from in the cabinets and cold storage unit. Qui-Gon picked out a short stack of grain flats and looked in some drawers for the utensils. "Did you approve of the arrangements?"

Obi-Wan looked a little uncertain as he opened the drawer with the utensils in it. "Yes. I saw no reason not to. We will be seated separately and presented to the audience during the preamble for the Play. We and all the officials will be in view of whole audience during the performance, except during the intermission half way through. The audience will be served refreshment in other parts of the Castle and in the outside gardens. We will have separate refreshments in a separate room with the Castle Venerates. There will be floater platforms to take us there from the viewing towers."

Qui-Gon opened the cool storage unit and picked out a container of sauce. Cracking the lid, he deemed the savory aroma acceptable and put it in the heating unit. "I presume that we will ascend to the towers by floater as well?"

"Yes, Master." He picked out some fruits and vegetables from the basket on the counter and after a nod from Qui-Gon began cutting them up onto a serving platter.

Picking a couple of long vegetables, Qui-Gon began slicing them, leaving a purple oily residue on the cutting surface and his hands. They had a sour, spicy smell. He scooped them all into a heating bowl and replaced the now-hot sauce with it in the heating unit. Going to the water dispenser and tub, he ran it over his hands, rubbing a slab of a solid cleaser on them. The apartment did not have any modern sanitizers. Obi-Wan finished with the serving tray and he took it to the table with plate of grain flats. He remained thoughtfully silent as he retrieved cups of water for both of them and Qui-Gon brought the heated food and the plates and utensils for their meal.

"Master," Obi-Wan paused as Qui-Gon took a couple of grain flats. "Was your meeting with Sebo productive?"

"No. It only added more information that I cannot explain." Qui-Gon ignored his apprentice's questioning eyes. Obi-Wan knew he could not ask for more and he did not, at least not about what Sebo had told him.

"If you are in any meetings like that and I cannot locate you for too long, should I still contact the Jedi Temple?"

Qui-Gon looked at his apprentice critically. This question seemed to be more aimed at fishing for information that was forbidden to him than a true inquiry. His eating utensil tapped against his plate. Obi-Wan lowered his eyes and Qui-Gon sighed, relenting. Jedi Padawans were instructed to not speculate unnecessarily, but that was not a realistic edict when there were too many unknowns.

"I do not forsee any dangers. However, that would be a wise precaution to take." He served himself some vegetables and sauce. "With the delay from the quarantine, we will be here for several more days. Tomorrow will be the Minigan auditions. Then the final auditions on the next day. Then the day when the performers will be assigned their parts in the Play. After that will be three days of rehersals when we will not be needed."

"Uh, we will be required to participate in a rehersal of the introduction of the Play on the last day," Obi-Wan broke in around a mouth full of food.

Qui-Gon nodded and picked up his water. "Then we will be there. The next day will be the presentation of the Play. We will be leaving on a transport after presenting ourselves at the celebration. We will have Darth Yarr's artifacts in a sealed container."

"Will I . . ." Obi-Wan started cautiously. "Learn more about Darth Yarr when we are back at the Temple?"

Qui-Gon now smiled at this almost shy inquiry. Back at the Temple there would be more Masters and the Jedi Council to admonish him much more severely for asking about Sith.

"I believe you will learn as much as you need to from the History Play."

* * *

**= = = End Part 20**


	21. Chapter 21

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 21**

* * *

Qui-Gon put his lightstick in the bin with an expression of distaste as sour as when he first sparred with it. Obi-Wan sympathized. Jedi trained to fight with all kinds of inanimate weapons, not just lightsabers. So, looked at that way, the saber props were not that different from Biranz fighting sticks or short staffs. But none of those 'pretended' to be lightsabers.

Obi-Wan's stick clattered in with the others. The blades were supposed to be retractable, but they sometimes got stuck in the extended position. Falgan's assistants were looking into the problem.

They had been working with the performers all morning. The Minigan audition would be after a rest and light exercise period after the midday meal. The Minigan costume had a dark gray tunic with dark gray belt and boots with pale pink obi, pants and tabbards, plus a pink and gray striped headband.

They joined the line of people waiting for food. The performer Qui-Gon stood behind glanced backward, his eyes going wide before he turned around again. Obi-Wan caught a glimpse of a smile on his Master's face. They got their food and went to the end of a long table. People at the other end looked up at Qui-Gon and then back down at their plates.

Obi-Wan looked about the crowded room and saw Yana and her friends sitting at another table. He kept looking until she noticed. For one second their eyes locked before she hastily looked down. Timoz peered over her shoulder, recognized him and hastily looked away again. Jutwa did not even turn around. At the other end of the table they sat at, the people there got up and moved to another overcrowded one. During morning practice, Yana and all the others had concentrated only their dancing, singing and recitation of lines. Yana had even avoided eye contact. Obi-Wan had assumed that it was because Director Tykon was yelling at everyone, especially Qui-Gon, who just ignored it. But now it looked like there might be some other cause.

"Master? I think we are being avoided."

Qui-Gon glanced about. "It would appear so." He took a sip of water. "Are you concerned about it?"

He was. He liked Yana and the other performers; they had explained a lot of things about the Play for him and he would rather share a meal with friends than not. "If we have given some offense, we should be aware of what it is."

"Does anyone look offended?" Qui-Gon took a bit of a crispy grain flat.

Obi-Wan glanced about the room again. Eyes darted away from him among anyone in the Minigan costume, but the technicians, Castle staff and stage crew went about their business without paying much attention to the Jedi; they chatted, carryied equipment, got multiple plates of food to take to others.

"No. But the performers all look fearful," he admitted.

"They are all fearful." He looked past Obi-Wan and raised a hand. A woman in Castle staff blue came to their table and bowed.

"Venerate Master Jedi."

"I wish to speak to Pecku. Could you please get him for me?"

"Yes, Venerate." She ran off across the Hall to the archway to the other parts of the Castle. Pecku always left with Tykon for meals. They were partway through their meals before Pecku finally came jogging up to their table; he wore a loose tan skirt tied at the waist and a long brown shirt this day.

"Venerate Jedi Master Qui-Gon. You needed to speak to me?"

"Yes." Qui-Gon gestured to the empty long table where they sat and the others, overcrowded with Jedi Minigans with a few costume technicians and the keyboardist who played through the practice sessions. "We seem to be alone. Has something changed?"

"Ah." Pecku leaned over their end of the table, his posture inviting them to lean closer to him. "We noticed some questionable associations yesterday and we spoke with our thesps about it last night." He patted the air with his hands as if smoothing down the offense. "The fault is purely ours. It is so rare to have offworld Venerates participating in a History Play that we did not pay proper attention to the customary protocols.

"While your status is not clearly defined, Venerate Jedi Apprentice Obi-Wan, and it is not forbidden, it is not customary for any Venerates to socialize with the Play thesps. But it is inappropriate for them to interact socially with any member of the Creative Committee," he almost apologized to Qui-Gon. "We were assuming that you would simply retire to the tower for your meals. But I understand that it is quite a hike up there."

"I understand," Qui-Gon replied with a nod toward Obi-Wan, "We will certainly comply. But," he gestured again toward the length of the empty table they sat at, "It might be more efficient if you provided us with a small, separate table to eat at."

Pecku lifted his head. "I see your point. I'll have one brought in right away." He left and very soon afterwards three Castle staff appeared, one with a small table and the other two carrying chairs. They placed them by the wall behind the base of the staircase leading up to the gallery. Without even a glance toward the Jedi, they left. Qui-Gon picked up his plate, utensils and cup first; Obi-Wan did the same and followed him. When they were seated again, Qui-Gon had his back to the room. Obi-Wan saw the excess people from the other long tables immediately migrate to the now empty one. Yana moved her plate and cup with the others and she saw him looking as she sat down. She grinned and pumped her fist up and down under the table. Obi-Wan gave her a half smile and made the same gesture by his knee so she could see it.

Qui-Gon smiled as he bit into a crispy grain flat.

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Standing among some taller bushes on the balcony garden in the late-evening twilight, Obi-Wan sniffed the air. "It's going to rain."

"Yes." Qui-Gon smiled, putting an arm around his apprentice's shoulders. They had finished eating and cleaning up after dinner. With the Minigan auditions done for the day, there would be only one more day of auditions, this one for all the minor parts of the Hiistory Play. After that would be the day of assigning the performers to their Play parts and then three days of rehersals before finally the performance. With so much time available, Qui-Gon saw an opportunity to add some mindfulness training to their mission. The tower apartment was an excellent setting for it. The Jedi Temple was strong with the Force, but its completely controlled, weatherless enclosures offered little variation.

"Now," he pointed Obi-Wan toward the outer railing, over a raised bed of ferns and flowering shrubs, the lights of the Castle and the town beyond it shining from below. "Feel this place and how it is connected to everything around us."

They both stood for long moments, eyes closed, the Force a pervasive warmth among the plants and echoed down through the distant jostling clusters of people shining thought the other parts of the Castle and town and reflecting from the forested hills. Obi-Wan opened his eyes first.

"Someone is coming."

Qui-Gon smiled. "Yes."

They walked around the curve of the walkway to the nearest door by Obi-Wan's sleeping area. The head of a young Castle staff member emerged from the floor and they faced her as the lift locked into place.

She bowed low, her hands clasped tightly before the front of her pale blue tunic. "Venerate Jedi, Custodian Tykon has sent me to inform you that the extra preparations you requestions for transport of the holy artifacts are ready for inspection."

Qui-Gon inclined his head back to her. She had shoulder length blond hair and nervous brown eyes. "Thank-you. I wish to do so now." He looked down at his apprentice. "Meditate on what we have discussed while I am gone."

"Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon stepped forward to the lift. The young staff member was slight and shorter than Obi-Wan, and from her expression, she had not been expecting him to want to come back with her. She activated the lift and then averted her eyes while they shared the enforced closeness for the ride down. As soon as the lift stopped she hopped off and led him down the many spiraling steps of the tower. They descended to the gallery, then down to and across Tamwa Hall to the Mountain Wing where the Custodians maintained facilities archiving, re-creating period clothes, tools, repair and any other functions they needed for the upkeep of the entire Naardin Living History Lands. Going down a couple of levels, they finally arrived at a locked door. With only a slight quaver in her voice, the young staff member politely asked Qui-Gon to turn his back while she opened a door. Afterwards she ushered him into the workroom without going in herself. The door slid closed him.

Custodian Tykon and two others in lighter shades of blue huddled at an alcove at the opposide end of a long, low-ceilinged room of pristine white walls, glass-doored cabinets and silver fixtures. Qui-Gon scanned the sharp-angled and mirrored wall panels that seemed to triple the size of the windowless room. Bright lights shone down on long metal work tables. A few technicians in light blue tunics and pants darted glances toward him as they bent over their work. The place was an isolated anachronism of plastoid technology hidden in a Castle of ancient stone.

Parting with her comrades, Tykon bustled toward him with a dull gold metalloid box.

"Master Qui-Gon." She set the box on an empty end of a long table. "I have the transport container that you requested." She touched a corner and the sides of the box flipped outward revealing another gold metalloid box. She touched a corner of the second box and its side flipped open and a dull sliver box inside shot upward on an internal pedestal. One final touch opened the last box.

"As you can see," Tykon pointed at recessed portions of the black interior, "the inside is fitted to each artifact, the lightsaber, the holocron and the rest. It is triple sealed. The outer layers are zellite, completely impenetrable to sensors or blaster fire, the inner container is cry-carbon reinforced zellite." She held up a slim flat device, less than half the width of her hand. "This key will lock each container separately. But it cannot unlock them. It can only record the unlock codes. Once the relics are sealed, we will transmit the unlock codes, by a secure channel, to the Jedi Archives; they are already prepared to receive them. You will not be able to open it, as you requested. Only another key - - and we have sent the specifications to your Archives - - can open it."

Qui-Gon accepted the key from her. It had only three square buttons on it in a neat column and a function indicator at the top.

"The key is not activated yet. It will only be activated after the History Play when the relics are presented to you."

"Of course," Qui-Gon agreed, handing the device back to her. "However, I wish to test this container out. On the actual artifacts."

Tykon's expression darkened, her brows lowered, her mouth hardening into a severe frown. "They are in the Hall of Mysteries."

"Yes. I believe you can escort me there."

"We have exact measurement of all the relics. The interior of this box is specifically designed for them."

"I am sure it is. But I think it best that this be confirmed. I would not wish any unforeseen error to delay us any further than we already have been."

Tykon noisly sucked in air through her nose, her jowly jaw clenched. Qui-Gon calmly stood over her, waiting.

With a huff, she relented. "Then I will escort you."

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Sitting on a cushion on the floor, Obi-Wan inhaled the night air coming in through the open door. Thick with the scents of flowers, plants, soil and now a gentle rain that had encouraged him to go inside. Sitting on the cushion, he straightened his back, relaxing his shoulders. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind. Stray thoughts only clouded a Jedi's connection with the Force.

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Custodian Tykon's mouth seemed to be set into a permanent scowl. She held the tray of Darth Yarr's artifacts tightly against her wide body. The transport box sat open, on the floor as Qui-Gon floated each item into it, testing their fit as they nestled down into their respective niche. The holocron was last.

Qui-Gon guided it up into the air before him. Even if Tykon had not slapped his hand back from laying hand on any of the artifacts, he did not wish to touch the holocron. Though it remained lifeless, containing neither Dark nor Light, he still did not trust that it not to conceal some hidden and dangerous secrets.

Tykon started with a little gasp when the blue light shone faintly from within, growing brighter. Qui-Gon saw in his mind the rough and very empty interior of it. It felt old and swept clean long ago, leaving no trace of what it might have been, a story forgotten, or maybe never told.

He guided the holocron over and down to the box.

The blue light flared, bright and shimmering. He felt it on his face, brisk and cool, a window opened, letting in fresh clean air.

"Huh!"

He jerked his guiding hand back and the light winked out. The holocron fell with a muffled thump, landing precisely into its place in the box.

* * *

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The Force stretched out from the Castle, a pervasive haze inside and outside everything, stronger in some places, a little thinner in others, but always there. It clung to the thick foliage of the balcony garden that ringed the apartment, an aura of life. All things in balance, peaceful and alive.

Obi-Wan let his senses drift outward. Down toward the people below, the Castle, the grounds; there were pens of animals, small insects and night flyers in the air. He could feel them all connected to everything.

The haze thickened, collecting into a pillar. Obi-Wan did not react, his mind remaining still, part of the background of the Force that would not distort the new vision. The wisps of energy formed an outline of a person, a woman, dressed like Sebo, long tunic, loose pants, shawl around her neck and draped over her head. She looked a little younger then Sebo, dark shoulder-length straight hair, pale eyes, pointed chin and age lines beginning to show around around her eyes and nose.

She held a baby, wrapped in a coarse blanket. It was a girl.

She held it out to him, her face questioning.

Then she pulled her back to her breast, half turning away. She handed the baby to the extended hands of three women who took it and vanished. The woman turned back to him, folded her arms before her and bowed low before throwing her head back, arms out. Obi-Wan felt sad, as if he would never see the Jedi Temple again, everyone in it turned to dust and gone. He felt clean, but the Force was cold. Not Light or Dark, just cold. And it did not connect him to the world. It just blew through him, like a chill breeze rushing through a wide open canyon with nothing there to stop it.

The woman before him dissolved into the wind.

"Huh!" Obi-Wan started. The world, and his ordinary senses suddenly wiped out the vision like a light coming on. But it was dark outside and raining harder, the wind blowing some of it inside. There were only a few isolated islands of light in the apartment, the rest of it in black shadow. He climbed to his feet and closed the open door.

* * *

**= = = End Part 21**


	22. Chapter 22

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 22**

* * *

Qui-Gon listened to his Padawan's account of his vision.

As soon as he returned to the apartment, Obi-Wan told him what he had been doing. They meditated every day. His apprentice was exceptional and dedicated but only after years of training would his senses be developed to the level of a Jedi Knight. But visons had more to do with the will of the Force than the Jedi.

"And then she vanished. Well, no, she didn't vanish. She dissolved. Into the Force, I think. But there was nothing left. I felt it." Obi-Wan licked his lips, his eyes upward, waiting for his Master's appraisal.

Frowning, Qui-Gon let him wait for a bit. Obi-Wan had been deliberately meditating about Darth Yarr's holocron and he had deduced that it was intact. While he had not been directly or intentionally meditating on the Dark Side, using a Sith artifact as his focus and without his Master's guidance was bad enough.

It could have been worse. This vision sounded relatively benign, not at all like the flashes of evil that Qui-Gon had been struck by. He started to pace, head down, thinking carefully about his response. Obi-Wan's expression of hopeful anticipation sank into worry.

"You have just told me that you were using the Force, meditating to discover the mystery surrounding Darth Yarr's holocron."

"You indicated that there might be some danger involved with it . . ." Obi-Wan's excuse died under his Master's cool glance before he continued pacing.

"I agree that I communicated to you that there might be some danger. And perhaps I was over-cautious with my warning for you to contact the Jedi Temple if you could not locate me." He stopped, staring toward the food prep area of the apartment, pausing before turning around and passing in from of his Padawan again. "Perhaps the lack of information for you - - details that I am duty bound to withhold - - made my concerns more . . . dramatic and exciting than I intended." He stopped again, lifting his head, staring toward the fresher unit. He turned around again. Obi-Wan's eyes followed him as he passed.

"Whatever your reasons might be for wanting to help, I must ask you, my Padawan, do you believe your training, so far, to be sufficient for containing or challenging the danger of an active Sith holocron?" Facing the food prep area again, he looked past Obi-Wan's right shoulder. His apprentice lowered his eyes, bowing his head.

"No, Master."

Qui-Gon turned around, slowing pacing again. "And if that situation arose, what would our best course of action be. For either of us?" He stopped, facing his sixteen year-old apprentice again.

"Contact the Jedi Temple immediately and warn them."

"Yes. That is exactly what should be done, should any Jedi encounter any active Sith artifact." He stood over Obi-Wan; the tension in his apprentice increased with his growing realization of the magnitude of his error. The little sounds of the apartment filled the silence between them, the gentle wind outside blowing a few stray drop of rain on the roof and veranda; the leaves of the bushes rustling; Obi-Wan licked his lips and swallowed.

Qui-Gon sighed; he laid a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Come." He guided him toward the padded bench in his Padawan's side of the apartment. Sitting him down, Qui-Gon sat next to him, arm over his shoulders.

"I have examined Sith holocrons in the Jedi Archives."

Obi-Wan wide eyes looked up at him.

"Only senior Masters and members of the Council are allowed access to them." He paused, remembering. "They are incomparably evil. Imagine instead of being in balance with the Force, you use it like food, or a drug, never wanting to let it go and always craving more.

"The Sith gained power from controlling and taking the lives of others. The Force does not flow through a Sith, it flows _into_ them and _from_ them. Aside from their consquests and wars, the Sith need to control life, not live in balance with it. For Sith, there is no cooperation, there is no sharing or loyalty, even with their own. In the end, a Sith, either apprentice or master, always uses power simply to acquire more power. They are never satisfied, no matter how many people and worlds they manipulate, corrupt and destroy.

"A Sith holocron would embody all of that and it could be a dangerous temptation for any Jedi to examine and become corrupted. As tempting, I suppose, as a mystery would be."

Obi-Wan lowered his eyes, thinking for a long minute. "I do not understand how that could be desirable."

Qui-Gon smiled. "I hope you never do. No Jedi living, not even Master Yoda, has ever fought a Sith. They have been gone for nearly a millennia. Some think they are extinct, but the last known Sith was not destroyed. The holocrons are their last remaining essences. And they are kept so we would recognize the Sith in case they returned."

He rubbed Obi-Wan's shoulders, feeling the tension easing in his Padawan. "And if we are fortunate, it will be at least another millennia before anything like that happens. If it ever happens at all."

* * *

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* * *

Director Tykon started yelling at Qui-Gon almost as soon as they arrived in Tamwa Hall that morning for the final day of auditions. It was a sunny day, blue sky and the cratered face of the planet's largest moon visible through the high windows, enormous black panels hanging between them. The stage looked complete though technicians kept emerging from and disappearing underneath it. All the viewing platforms, four tall and another six shorter ones were complete with workers installing chairs and fixtures at their tops. The musicians had emerged from their private practice rooms and were testing the seating arrangements in front of the stage with their instruments. The writers and composers for the play, Roobi Mwemas, Thrwun Aka and Quembu Smetin conferred with the keyboardist who had played through all the auditions along with four other musicians who would be also be playing for the final trials.

Tykon first complained that Qui-Gon was late; then he complained about where Qui-Gon was standing; then he lectured his performers about the seriousness of this final day and that even though these auditions were for the minor parts of the History Play, they were no less important than the leads and that their full effort was expected. Especially if other people did not exert themselves for their own selfish reasons, he finished with a poisonous glare toward the older Jedi.

Obi-Wan watched his Master, who did not react at all to Tykon's repeated insults, both direct and implied. Qui-Gon had said that Tykon wanted him to participate in the Play itself. Obviously, the Director did not accept his refusal well.

"Pecku!" Tykon called for his assistant, who came running up as his superior stomped off to the sidelines. Pecku had his longish brown hair tied back with a pale gray strip of cloth that matched his skirt.

"As you know, we are only having auditions today. You have all been practicing. We will start with the Hulus auditions, singing and dancing, break for midday meal and then finish with servant and guard medlies for the final minor parts." Pecku turned to the Jedi. "We will need both of you for the Hulus auditions."

He gestured and Obi-Wan went to where he pointed. "You will be the first attacker. And you," He pointed again and Qui-Gon went to a spot several paces away," will harass without making contact when he drives the candidate toward you."

Glancing toward the rows of dancers, Obi-Wan was doubtful. "Should we not practice before the auditions? Neither one of us has seen any of the steps."

Pecku waved a hand. "No, no. We are testing for improvisation. We've already evaluated everyone for skill and precision," he reassured. "Basko! Two saber props. One green, one blue."

Dressed in neutral pants with tunics belted at the waists with pale green sashes, the dancers watched attentively. The Hulus costume was not required for this audition. It was a small part since the Sith apprentice was killed almost immediately after the Jedi arrived on the planet.

There in the front row was Yana Twarn and Timoz Wemi. Yana grinned and gave him a covert fist pump gesture while keeping her arms at her sides. Leary of showing favoritism, Obi-Wan only half-smiled in her general direction as he accepted a light stick from a young energetic man who brought it over from the prop box. He clicked the switch. He had the green one. The man trotted over to Qui-Gon with the second prop.

"No!"

They all turned their heads toward Director Tykon, at the side of the practice area. The humming holo-recorders zoomed up overhead.

"Use the real one!" Tykon waved at Qui-Gon and the young man froze, the prop in hand. Pecku turned around, staring.

Qui-Gon folded his arms before him. "No. I will not."

Tykon's mouth snapped shut, his face going blank. Then his expression darkened. "You what?"

"No. I will not threaten anyone with my lightsaber for such a frivolous reason."

Taking a step back, Obi-Wan watched the temperature going up on Tykon's anger on his left and his Master's ruthless calm on his right.

"Frivolous?" He marched toward Qui-Gon and stopped. All the performers flinched back as if he was coming for them.

"Yes." Qui-Gon nodded. "Frivolous." His voice lowered to a more ominous tone. "The lightsaber is the symbol of the Jedi, our ideals, our Code, the Force itself. It is just as much a sacred symbol as all the trapping of your History here." He raised his hands and gazed up around Tamwa Hall. "A lightsaber is not a prop for your entertainment."

"Entertainment?" Tykon echoed in a near whisper. He exhaled, his face going blank, the growing tension dropping from his shoulders. The wide-eyed performers stood frozen in place.

Ssssatsim," he cursed softly at Qui-Gon. "I had no idea that you Jedi were so sssats IGNORANT!" Tykon's fury returned full force, his outrage echoing from the vaulted ceiling high above them as he advanced again. "Well, I suppose you know all about it then, don't you? We should just model this whole thing on that colorless, lifeless Jedi Code that you live by? No emotion, no fear, no fire, no passion, no music, no acting and we can watch all our work fall into DUST!"

Tykon strode up to Qui-Gon who did not move at all. "When you were standing around for a bit part in a third-rate holo, twenty years ago, I was making HISTORY! And I do not take direction from pretenders like _you_! And _I_ will say when we will use a real lightsaber or not!"

Obi-Wan felt the Force, like a low, inaudible rumble of thunder. Qui-Gon raised a hand. "Of course you will. But you don't need one now." The hand passed before Tykon's face, a deceptively gentle motion. "But it would be much too distracting for the audition. The saber props will suffice."

"The saber props will suffice," Tykon repeated blandly with a mindless nod. His brow furrowed for a moment. "Pecku!"

Qui-Gon's hand went up again. "No need to shout. We can all hear you. The acoustics in this Hall are quite adaquet. And the auditions will go much more smoothly if you show your . . . appreciation for everyone's hard work."

"Yes." Tykon nodded. "Yes. Pecku. Please, give him the prop. And you've been doing a very good job, even with these delays and re-writes, keeping things going, thank-you. Good job." Tykon's gaze swept somewhere past Pecku's left shoulder toward the performers. "Yes, you've all been working very hard. I like that. You're going to need it. Good job everyone."

Obi-Wan cringed at the look of total horror on Pecku's face. The rows of performers stared in shock at the transformation of their volatile Director. The keyboardist, musicians and composers stared, their mouths open.

Qui-Gon took the prop from Pecku and stepped back. "Shall we begin?" he invited. Pecku did not move and Tykon looked too confused to know what came next.

The composers and musicians approached slowly. Pecku started shaking Tykon who very politely asked him if he needed something from him. Qui-Gon let out a sigh and went back to his place for the audition. The eyes of all the performers followed him. Obi-Wan felt as if he had failed a task, but he know it was not his failure. He went to Qui-Gon and stood before him, eyes upward.

"You made them afraid of us."

Qui-Gon opened his mouth and then stopped, his dark blue eyes wide with surprise. He looked down at him and Obi-Wan knew that his Master had not realized the effect he'd had on everyone else watching.

Qui-Gon closed his mouth without saying anything.

* * *

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Roobi Mwemas and Quembu Smetin came over, but it was unclear if they wanted to help. Mwemas loudly demanded that Pecku give her a holo-copy from the recorders still circling above. All the performers hastily averted their eyes when Qui-Gon caught them looking at him. He sighed. His Padawan was right. He had only succeeded in making everyone afraid of him. They feared Tykon because they feared failing or disappointing him. Now they feared him because they believed he could hurt Tykon. And by default he could hurt them, ruin their auditions and their futures. Fear was never a good motivator, but the fear that Tykon routinely inspired in others had its own narrow purpose, driving the performers to work hard for the Play.

Pecku abandoned Tykon to follow Mwemas who was going after the droid controllers on a long table beside the audition area. Smetin stayed back and stared at Tykon who still had not regained his line of thought. Qui-Gon had simply impressed upon him the feeling that his History Play was going very well, something that the Director badly wanted. But Tykon's brain knew what his Play's shortcomings were and it fought the undeserved expectation of glory while the other half of his mind fiercely clung to it, leaving him wavering between the two.

Obi-Wan turned and marched back to Tykon. He raised his hand.

"My Master is sssats ignorant and you should not listen to what he says."

Brows furrowed, Tykon's befuddled brain took a few seconds to register this information. Then his face transformed.

"Aaaaaaaauuuuuggggghhhh!"

Swiftly turning his body sideways, Obi-Wan evaded Tykon's downward swing. The saber stick missing its target and clicked on the ground. Obi-Wan's own saber stick blocked the next three blows aimed at his head. Qui-Gon stepped back. It was obvious that even an enraged Tykon could not hurt his apprentice.

Obi-Wan dodged to the side and Tykon whirled around, saber stick sweeping low. Obi-Wan jumped high, flipping over Tykon's head and landing behind him. He snapped a blow at the back of Tykon's knees and then another to his buttocks, driving him down to the ground. Tykon caught himself and swung around blindly, but Obi-Wan bent back, just out of reach of the wild swing. His stick smacked onto the Director's wrist and the saber props dropped and rolled away.

Qui-Gon smiled. The Force was strong with his Padawan; his defense had been perfectly executed, exactly as he had been trained.

Eyes wild with rage, Tykon glared up the length of Obi-Wan's weapon.

"There!" he turned to his performers, dragging himself away. "I want fighting like that!" Jumping to his feet, he waved an arm at them. "And I had better see it in your auditions!"

* * *

**= = = End Part 22**


	23. Chapter 23

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 23**

* * *

They returned to the apartment before sunset. The auditions seemed to have gone well. Tykon did not request that either of them use their lightsabers again; the subject never came up again, as if it or the confrontation had not happened.

After the auditions, he and Qui-Gon had eaten at their solitary small table and the performers and even the musicians, props and costume technicians avoided looking their way. Obi-Wan caught Yana's eye a few times, but she always looked away and she did not return any of his gestures under the table. There was too much fear. He did not like it. It seemed so unnecessary.

His Master was unrepentant about influencing Tykon, though he agreed that the result had been unfortunate. And after being attacked, Obi-Wan could not now say that he was entirely wrong to have done it. A very nervous Eris Mwat had shown them around the stage, the back stage, the orchestra section and the completed platform where they would be seated. Qui-Gon had raised a hand and almost influenced Mwat to be more calm, but a warming glare from Obi-Wan had stopped him.

They took their robes off and hung them over the chairs in the eating area before they heard footsteps outside. In her pale yellow outfit, Sebo entered with a basket laden with fresh fruit, vegetables and a few nuts.

"I won't be coming tend the garden," she told them as she put her basket on the table. "I will be helping with the rehearsals and of course, presenting the Mystery to the thesps tomorrow." She turned to face them. "In fact, I may not be returning to this place ever again."

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows. "Will you be forbidden from returning then? After your Mystery is revealed in the Play?"

She shook her head, her hands clasped before her. "No. I just may not want to come back." She went to the lift. "The Castle staff will tend the gardens while you are here. They will not disturb you." She took her place on the lift in the center of the circle of curved pillars.

"And if you wish to change your mind about your part in the Play, you will be welcome at any time at the rehearsals. Any time." She smiled invitingly.

Qui-Gon shook his hear. "No, I do not believe I will be

She shrugged, unoffended by his rejection. "I told Director Tykon, and Smetin and Aka, that I would ask again." She reached into a pocket for the lift control, but Qui-Gon held up a hand.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon turned to him, "would you please tell Sebo what you saw during your meditation while I was examining the transport arrangements for Darth Yarr's artifacts?"

Surprised, he opened his mouth without speaking. It was very unusal to share such things with non-Jedi, but Qui-Gon nodded his head in ascent. So, he told Sebo about his vision, described the woman with the baby, dressed like her, surrendering her baby before vanishing into the cold.

Sebo's eyes teared up as he spoke, her hands clutched before her. She wiped her nose on her shawl but did not speak for a time.

"Thank-you, Master Qui-Gon. You Jedi see through all our hidden doors and moving walls and distractions right to our Mysteries." She fumbled in her pocket for the lift control again before she descended into the floor and was gone.

* * *

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* * *

The air in Tamwa Hall was thick with anticipation. The desire and fear in the performers washed over Qui-Gon as he waited with Obi-Wan and the other members of the Creative Committee. They stood on the stage. The anti-gravs had been activated so even though he felt as if he was standing on solid ground, the rest of the room was weirdly tilted toward him. The performers stood in the orchestra area, their faces nervously upturned toward them. The morning light dimmed as each of the tall windows of Tamwa Hall was covered and blacked out. Custodian Tykon stood at stage center, Sebo at her side.

Finally all the outside light was gone, the doors and archways closed, the only remaining light coming from a row of glowing golden dots at the edge of the stage. When the room was finally silent, Tykon took in a long breath, the performers following the rise of her huge bosom with increasing anticipation.

"You have all peformed well. And we thank-you for your hard work and dedication. The Committee has made its choices and are agreed. But - - "

An arc of dread cut through the anticipation.

" - - your places in the History Play cannot be revealed without revealing part of the Mystery itself. So, we must retire to Acren Hall, the true place of Darth Yarr's defeat. - - "

The performers exhaled with a muffled moan of disappointment. Their waiting would be prolonged.

" - - Be you all warned that this is a scared place. Acren Hall holds more Mysteries than Yarr's and it is not to be revealed by any of you. You will learn your places and you will rehearse the play there. The Custodians of this Castle will lead you there now and you will not leave until the final day of rehersals."

Over forty of the Castle staff stood at the back of the rows of performers. Now they took out black hoods and sorted them into groups of five or six. And not just the performers went. Falgan and his staff, technicians and musicians were hooded and lined up as well into little lines of people, led by a custodian with blind followers firmly gripping the waist of the person before them and herded along by one or two others in pale blue tunics. They were reasonably efficient with organizing it all, but with so many groups and only one allowed to leave every few minutes the exodus took some time. The Creative Committee and Obi-Wan came last, solemnly following Custodian and Director Tykon through the corridors of the fortress. They reached the open courtyard of covered tables and bushes, then going inside the long corridor of colored windows and through the doorway into the stairwell.

Obi-Wan looked all around. His earlier tour of the Castle had obviously not included this place. They descended the stairwell and dutifully turned their backs as Custodian Tykon opened the door though Sebo gave Qui-Gon a sly look. They entered and she closed the door behind them.

Qui-Gon had found his own way the first time he entered. Now he followed the others down the dark corridors and turns. They followed Sebo down the halls, around the corners, back the way they had come, single file. When they came to the false door, they had to turn around again while Sebo went down the final corridor. They finally emerged through the concealed door into Acren Hall.

It was quite full of people and Qui-Gon heard a gentle whir of air recyclers from overhead. Nearly everyone still had their hoods on, even some of the Castle staff, the ones in the palest, lowest-ranking blue tunics and robes. The lights hanging from the ceiling were at half-brightness. They filed around the crowd, passing the alcove statues, which had been either replaced or repaired, and up onto the stage at the head of the room. Their heavy footsteps roused the hooded crowd, though there were no voices or whispers. They took seats on the bench at the heavy wooden table with Custodian Tykon directing Obi-Wan to stand behind Qui-Gon's chair. The crack down the center of the table where it had broken was hardly visible.

Director Tykon took a position in the center of the raised platform. He nodded back to Custodian Tykon, seated at the end of the long table and the lights came up. A bell sounded three times. The hoods came off, performers and play crew and lower ranking Castle staff blinking, smoothing back ruffled hair.

"It is time for you to know the Mystery!"

At once, all the performers' eyes snapped to Director Tykon. Sebo stood, stepping away from the bench, the soft sounds of her clothes and then her light footsteps loud in the silence. She walked around the table and Tykon stepped aside for her. She suddenly spread her arms out, her palms upward.

"I am the Lady of the Tower, whose name was so dangerous it was taken from her, who grew old and died there before Cloras the First united this world again from the chaos after the fall of the Sith Lord. I am the keeper of her name. I hold the Mystery. I live her life."

Sitting at the table behind her, Qui-Gon watched Sebo spin her tale. It was the same as what he had heard, word for word. The story of Nirid. And Keth. Their love. Him leaving her behind on the planet. The Sith arriving. Yarr's rise. Keth's return. Keth's death. Yarr's fall. Minigan's fall.

He glanced back up at his apprentice whose eyes were wide with interest. Qui-Gon sighed. This version of Yarr's fall differed radically from the one in the Jedi Archives, the one he had recounted to Obi-Wan only a few days ago. He would have to explain the difference. But he had no explanation.

Sebo finished the story to the hushed crowd; it was a religious ritual and they were properly impressed and respectful. Even Director Tykon had not moved, staying at attention off to the side. When Sebo finally bowed and went back to sit behind the long table with the other members of the Creative Committee, Director Tykon took the stage again.

"Now you know. The parts of Nirid and Darth Yarr will be played by the same person." The crowd murmured its defuse reaction and fell silent as Tykon raised a hand held screen and began reading names.

"For the Chorus alone: Mastwa Flir, Hutra Yeoz, Zmela, Jutwa Eris . . ."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and inhaled, feeling the intensity of the reactions, inflated bubbles of anticipation bursting. These were the minor participants, the performers who would be reminded many times that it was still an honor to be participating in the History Play at all. Success was not found in hard work or learning or even wisdom. It was measured by being judged better than others. By beating them, climbing over them and pushing them out of the way to the most glory. Some of the performers cried out their anguish aloud, but the heartbreak of the silent ones was just as strong in the Force.

"For Shadow dancers alone: Greahshtrin Luru, Shurew . . . "

Qui-Gon had already heard the lists. Sebo had come before sunrise for him to attend and approve the final selections of the Creative Committee. There was only minor discussion about the Play parts. Director Tykon got his way on all of his choices. Qui-Gon acquiesced. As ugly and abusive the Director's methods were, they were the traditions of this world and the Jedi had no place to judge them, no matter how little they had to do with art, music or dance.

"For Chorus and Shadow Dancers: Herra Tooz, Alhren, Nak Mwenno . . ."

He wondered that any beauty could survive amidst all the fear. But it did. It even flourished.

"The role of first guard: Lasru Trimwi. The role of second guard: Yana Twarn. The role of third guard: Loodri . . ."

These were the minor roles, disappointing, but less so than the background parts. Someone yelped in elation. Another cried out the injustice.

"The part of Hulus: Mwatt."

The flares of fear and anguish had subsided leaving soaring joy from the few who had not been assigned the lesser roles.

"The part of Minigan: Zwarus Shwar."

"The part of Keth: Distah Mwul."

"The parts of Nirid and Yarr: Adie Tykon-Tuzi."

Qui-Gon opened his eyes. The performers had sorted themselves out. Losers in back, winners in front. The four leads stood proud and tall, two men, two women. One had sat at their table before the Jedi were separated from the performers, Adie Tykon-Tuzi, longish blond hair, brown skin, blue eyes wide with awe and gratitude focused entirely up at her tyrannical Director.

A gong sounded.

Standing up with the others, Qui-Gon bowed his acceptance of the presentation of the performers to the Venerates of the Creative Committee. Custodian Tykon spoke the formal words for them. The storms of tension in the room had broken, all the performaers' hopes and fears realized. Even the ones most heart-broken were relieved. The torturous waiting was over; they at least knew their places now.

Roobi Mwemas, Thwurn Aka and Quembu Smetin joined Ebsi Tykon and they descended from the raised platform to stand before their Play performers. With a nod from Sebo, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan followed the two senior Castle Venerates to the hidden entrance.

With all the Castle staff assembled, everyone turned their back as a senior Custodian opened the door. The performers and Play crew not only had their backs to them, their hands were up, covering their eyes.

They filed out, one at the time into the long narrow corridors with Custodian Tykon closing the door behind them. Sebo remained with the performers, Play crew, composers and Director Tykon in the secret room.

* * *

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* * *

"The next few days will be critical, Master Qui-Gon."

Obi-Wan Kenobi followed behind his Master as Custodian Tykon explained what they were to do while the History Play was rehearsed as she walked with them on their way through the Castle back to the tower.

Apparently, they were to do nothing.

"Now that the shields have gone up, no one is allowed to leave until after the performance. Ugh." Custodian Tykon waved her hands, her gesture matching the exasperation in her tone. "There have already been breaches at three of the other Living History Lands. I am always appalled by how many people are willing to commit sacrilege and spoil the Mysteries, though my predecessor assured me that the problem used to be much worse.

"Of course we will make every effort, Master Qui-Gon, but I cannot guarantee that some of the spy-droids of the popular media won't get through. You see, that tower has always been a problem for us for any of these festivals. They do not happen very often as you can imagine - - Sebo has only reigned over three during her entire tenure - - and the Techs always give us a horrendous quote for shielding the tower, too, so we always end up sequestering Sebo in Acren Hall until it's all over.

"And naturally, we would offer you places in the protected towers vacated by all those thesps, but we need to ready suites for the officials who will be arriving the night before the Play. So, if you could be patient for a few more days - -"

Qui-Gon raised a reassuring hand to the woman. "Of course, Custodian Tykon. The accomodations in the tower are excellent, we will be happy to wait there. And if there are any intrusions, we are quite capable of handling them."

They passed into a windowless corridor that ran directly under the tower they spoke of.

"I believe that staying inside and going down below until they are driven out would be the best course, Master Qui-Gon. The law favors the public information media, inless they are caught directly over the Castle itself and then there is only a fine which is not nearly large enough." They emerged into the gallery over Tamwa Hall, now transformed into an enormous theater, the windows blocked, the entrances at ground level replaced with gateways that could be sealed. A decorative gate fenced off the stairway leading up to the gallery from the Hall below. The metalloid and stone-like facades had been styled after the ancient Hall, save for the conspicuous control panels and blinking status lights. If the new physical barriers were not enough the Castle Custodians were prepared to back them up with energy fields.

"We shall wait until you call on us the morning of the final rehersals." Qui-Gon bowed to her.

"Thank-you Master, Qui-Gon. Someone will be sent up every morning to tend the garden, but otherwise we will leave you and your apprentice undisturbed until then."

After both Jedi bowed a polite farewell to Tykon, Obi-Wan followed his Master up the long winding stairway back to the apartment. It was midday and they were both hungry. Someone had already been up to tend the plants and there was a basket of fresh food on the table. There were also fresh cleaning and washing cloths in the storage compartments and fresher, and newly cleaned coverings on the sleeping platforms. It looked nearly as it did when they first arrived.

"Master, is the Mystery true? Did Darth Yarr surrender her powers because she loved Keth? Was . . . ," Obi-Wan paused, drawing Qui-Gon's full attention, "was the woman I saw in my vision Nirid? And the baby?"

Qui-Gon sighed, lowering his eyes before looking up again. "She could not be. Sith do not renounce their power. Ever, Obi-Wan." He shook his head, his long hair hanging down over his shoulders. "I cannot account for the discrepancy between their version and the events recorded in the Jedi Archives." He stepped up to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You must undertand, Obi-Wan, that the path to the Dark Side is all consuming. It is desire beyond reason, beyond purpose, beyond anything but the acquisition of power. Everything, every other goal, every cause, every person becomes subservient to that. And if people must suffer or die for that goal then the corrupting influence of the Dark Side convinces the Sith that this is good. Sith increase their power by imposing it on others. Do you understand, Obi-Wan?"

Looking back up into his Master's dark blue eyes, he nodded. "Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon's lips curled in a sad smile. "No, you do not."

* * *

**= = = End Part 23**


	24. Chapter 24

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 24**

* * *

Lowering his head, Obi-Wan nodded again. He knew and accepted that the Sith were the embodiment of evil. But he did not know what he would sense if a Sith suddenly appeared to him. And he could sense that Qui-Gon was not telling him everything he knew; true knowledge of the Sith was potentially corrupting and not shared with Padawans.

He lifted his head. "No, Master. I do not. But I will follow your teachings. And learn."

Qui-Gon's hand squeezed his shoulder, a brief, intense acceptance. "We will learn together." He looked away. "But for now," his tone lightened, "we will eat."

They crossed to the food prep area. Obi-Wan grimaced down at the black mark on the floor left by his careless lightsaber. He knew what they would be doing during the three days of rehearsal. Meditating (possibly about Sith, or possibly not) and training. Obi-Wan trained every day, with Qui-Gon, with other Jedi and alone; he could feel the difference in himself from just a year ago. Aside from being physically taller, he was stronger, the Force coming to him more naturally, though he was still far from the ease and skill that his Master commanded. But they were not on Coruscant. And it seemed a wasted opportunity to only do the same things that they in the Jedi Temple.

"Master?"

Qui-Gon looked up from the root he was slicing.

"I would like to review the local holo-media. If the Custodian thinks that they will send snooper droids here, we should know more about them."

Qui-Gon's lip twitched in a suppressed sneer. But he then sighed and nodded. So, after they finished preparing and setting out their midday meal, Obi-Wan slid open the compartment where he had seen the holoprojector. It was a large unit attached to the back wall of the compartment; the projector platform flipped down and out, a large vertical screen opening up behind it. Activating the small control screen, Obi-Wan saw a fairly standard menu of functions and quickly scanned through them. His eye noted one option for later: "History Play Reference Holos".

Picking up the remote controller for the unit, he went back to the table. There was a huge selection of public broadcasts from topics ranging from teaching modules to entertainments, local sector activities to galactic events. Obi-Wan selected the most popular public information offering.

"We're here on the shores of the Scared Pond of Urzaro," The bluish transparent man leaned so close to his holo-recorder that his face distorted. Behind him the screen lit up in extreme color detail, a magnificent vista with a line of dark blue and green trees in the distance, the planet's largest moon hanging like a big gray, cratered bauble domnating a blue sky reflected in a pond of brown water half covered by greenish yellow blobs of alge. The detail on the screen was so sharp that they could see tiny blubbles forming and popping on the brown scummy water.

". . . where yesterday," the man went on enthusiastically, "it was revealed that King Zweritmu was in fact sterile, so the entire royal lineage of the House of Tatwa are actually the progeny of the King's cousin, a wusner herder. And I have here the Venerate Tizard and the Very Venerate Chilzom Tykrus." The holo-image shifted to the left, panning over to two men, one distinguished white haired man dressed in fitted, embroidered clothes, the other a bit stooped with long gray hair in a simple long tunic, hanging down past his knees; his feet were bare. "Excuse me, Venerate Emertis Tizard and Very Venerate Emertis Chilzom Tykus after last night's brilliant performance.

"Tell me, Venerate Sweritmu," the announcer addressed the finely dressed Venerate, "We all know how strict all the Living History Lands are, and especially the Swalen. So, were you neutered as part of your training, or was it part of your formal initiation?" The man opened his mouth, but nothing came out and the awkward silence stretched out.

Obi-Wan cringed as the announcer enthusiastically went on with his intrusive questions with the Very Venerate Emertis. Qui-Gon picked up the controller and switched the feed.

" - - - scoop bikes and single bikes and double bikes and TRIPLE bikes - - ," a broadshouldered woman in a bright yellow suit quickly strode down a row of speeder bikes as she rapid-talked down her inventory. The huge open pen behind her was filled with more of them, " - - and blue bikes and green bikes and gold bikes! Bikes with two, four and six rocket boosts! Bikes with fins! Bikes with vanes! Bikes with fins and vanes! - - "

Qui-Gon switched the feed.

"I can't Morgna! I _can't_!" A man with pale blue eyes and sunny blond hair pleaded to a smaller dark haired young man in a red and blue smock. "I love her. How can I ask her to - - "

"How can you _not_ ask her? Brayel you're not thinking straight. The whole Cabal can see what needs to be done. Why not - - "

Qui-Gon switched the feed.

A tinkle of music accompanied a burst of glowing, sparklng flowers and loose holographic petals on the floor before them.

"- - for that certain special someone in your life," a woman's voice cooed. "From single spectacular bursts to promenade, our flower showers come in fresh and hypo-allergetic scents. Make your reservation - - "

Qui-Gon switched the feed.

Obi-Wan took a few bites of food while his Master cycled through the public information offereings. They weren't that much different from the thousands of feeds available on Coruscant, except that the focus was mostly on Maarzim and its Outer Rim sector instead of the whole Galactic Republic. Commercialism was certainly alive and well on the Outer Rim. His Master's disapproving eyes flicked his way once as he cycled through the selections.

The back screen of the holo-projector filled with soaring views of different landscapes with ghostly transparent details rising and falling over the holo-projector. Orchestral music swelled and receded with each one.

Qui-Gon raised the controller again.

The screen image soared up forested hills and cresting, revealed a stone fortress overlooking a town on a hillside. A tall spire dominated it, more than twice as high as any other tower in the whole structure.

Qui-Gon lowered the controller.

The view circled around Naardin Castle before switching again to a dry landscape of dramatic rock formations and sparse purple vegetation. The image swooped up and down and then switched again to skim over an ocean, rushing up toward a forested island with steep vertical cliffs. The music rose, reaching a dramatic climax as the view zoomed into a black hangar opening in the rock face. Stylized text burst out proclaiming the eternal grandeur of the Living History Lands before dissolving into a shower of fading sparks that formed into a transparent mini-council of five people, seated in a circle of chairs over the holo-platform.

"History is being made. Right now," a man with thinning hair began. He wore a suit similar to the others and he sat in a chair with a higher back, marking him as some kind of host or leader. "Four of the major History Plays, innagurating Mwetta as the new Chancellor of the Living History Lands, have been performed. Tomorrow, The Gwad, with The Mystery of the Tortorb Labyrinth . . ."

This introduction launched a sometimes spirited and reasonably civil and serious discussion of the various major performances and the two Jedi ate their meal as it proceded. All five commentators agreed that the first Living History Play, 'The Seed' in the K'zrai Lands, had been excellent; it revealed that a small group of influential intellectuals of their day had, in fact, murdered one of their peers and used the upheaval it caused to found a charitable order of Historians that was still active in the present day. They were all united in their disappointment in the Dimara Grat Lands Play about the hidden correspondence between a musician and an explorer who was lost in the void beyond the Galactic Rim. As they mentioned each Play, the five chairs dissolved into quick holo smippets of the performances. They approved of the third and fourth History Plays with varying amounts of enthusiasm and speculated about the next performance. Then they moved on to what they expected from the final three Plays.

"Remember, The Tragedy of Darth Yarr was originally slated to be fourth in the lineup," a woman with very thick hair shaped into a deformed cube on her head, confided to the others, "but Naardin's slot was switched with with Swalen's, along with Gwad and Poonkagree, to accommodate this supposed 'epidemic' of sephrada virus, giving them extra time and putting increased pressure on Swalen and Gwad by forcing them to go early - - "

"Really," a man in a shiny tunic with strings of dark beads hangning down his chest interrupted, "I think the extra pressure worked to Tworin Aka's advantage; that was one of the most energetic performances he's directed in years."

"Let's hope it goes well for Titi Lwassa tomorrow night." the host added. "She is not known for working well under pressure. But," he re-directed the speculation, "will the extra time be beneficial for Ebsi Tykon? There have been rumors all season that he is not happy with his collaboration with the Mwemas, Aka and Smetin team that the Overseers forced on him."

"Can you blaaaaame them?" a thin man with light hair standing straight up asked with elongated vowels. "Ebsi Tykon has been liiiiving off of his victoooories for yeeeeears now. He ooooonly produces good work when he's working in collaboration with others. But he's running out of peeeeople who will put up with his tantrums. Aka, Smetin and Mwemas have aaaaaall worked with him before and it amaaaazes me that they're willing to do it agaaain."

"Roobi Mwemas has not only worked with Tykon before," a woman wearing a sleeveless shirt made of disks that matched the shiny pair hanging from her earlobes added, "she's also had an intermittent amorous relationship with him."

"Even moooooore reason for her to want to avoid him! Reeeeeally, can you imagine? And what about these new rumors that Tykon has even insulted the Jedi Venerate from the Galactic Republic. A Venerate! A Jedi Venerate! Can you imaaaaagine?" The five chairs dissolved into a still image of Qui-Gon that started out the size of a boot and quickly inflated to life-size.

"Confidential sources say that the Jedi tried to strangle Director Tykon during one of the auditions."

Obi-Wan gulped his bite of grain flat and nut spread and glanced toward his Master who did not react. These people had some kind of inside information though not accurate. And they did not seem to know that he even existed.

The Qui-Gon image fizzled out and reformed into the five chairs again with the sound of a forced laugh.

"Ha ha ha!" The host wagged a finger at the thin man, "I think that if a Jedi really tried to strangle Ebsi Tykon he wouldn't be going into rehersals now. Ha ha! But we can't linger on any un-holy heresay. Blithmi," he addressed the cube-haired woman, "what can we expect from the final four performances?"

More speculation followed. They all seemed to think that Tykon would easily do better than Hrot, the Director for the Dimara Grat History Play, 'Floor Under Floor', the one that they all did not like, but that the Majwaru History Play, the final one, would be the show piece of the whole celebrations. The five kept chatted on as the Jedi finished their meal and went to clean up.

". . . I caaaaan't agree with you there. I predict that the Poonkagree Play will completely upstage them all, especially Majwaru. I think that Zratta Nuel will regret not trading places for an earlier spot. She'll be under a lot of pressure - - - "

Qui-Gon shut off the holo-receiver. Then he folded up the platform and slid the compartment door closed over it. Obi-Wan frowned. He had planned to select the _Skyways_ holo next, but his chance had passed for the day at least. He knew the words even before his Master spoke them.

"Now, Obi-Wan. Training."

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"What are you saying? We can't . . . we're not . . . Just because we . . . That doesn't mean anything. Right, Brak'cha?"

"What matters is what you _feel_, Zim. And for feelings like yours, I'm not an expert. You're the only one can know that." the elderly woman standing behind the young woman facing off with an equally attractive young man was dressed plainly in a long robe with a long loose hood hanging down her back. The holo-drama proceeded three-quarters size on the tower apartment floor. The projection system was different for the stored dramas in its library. The screen sserved as a backdrop while the scenes played out in transparent colors, sometimes as knee-high crowds, sometimes as giant transparent floating heads, emoting important scenes.

Obi-Wan had claimed that morning of the first full day of rehearsals that they should view _Skyways_, since it was one of the reference dramas being used by the performers. The argument was weak in Qui-Gon's opinion, but this was the first of three days when they would mostly not be needed. They could not leave, since they knew the Mystery. Maarzim tradition and law demanded that they remain in sequestration until after the performance. Since they were Venerates, they were technically allowed free access to the rest of the Castle, but Qui-Gon saw no reason to cause Custodian Tykon any more anxiety than she already had to deal with.

Qui-Gon lost interest in the drama by the third scene and covertly watched his Padawan instead. He was obviously looking for any scenes where Qui-Gon appeared in the background. There were four of them and Obi-Wan's sharp eye spotted him in every one. But the most interesting development was when the lift activated and Obi-Wan hastily switched the holo-drama off. One of the Castle Custodians appeared to tend the garden. She bowed to them, begging their forgiveness for her interruption before going outside. Obi-Wan did not turn the drama back on. He just sat their, feigning meditation until the woman finished her tasks, methodically circling the entire exterior balcony and finally returning with a basket of produce. Only after she was gone and the lift hatch sealed did Obi-Wan go back to holo recorder. Qui-Gon took his seat again and said nothing about his apprentice's obvious embarrassment that anyone should catch them watching the holo-drama.

Though he tolerated the story of the young woman falling in love with her family's hireling while persons and droids with vague and sinister motives tried to kidnap her, Qui-Gon did enjoy seeing Roetee Zhazem again. This was her work and her legacy, her life in fact. After the holo was released and her work was feted in the popular venues, she sent a small mountain of cut flowers to the Jedi Temple with a dramatic note of thanks. Qui-Gon had been away on a mission at the time, but he heard later that Master Piell and Knight Worod (who had also briefly observed the holo-drama production) used them for an exercise where the Padawans in the Temple first kept as many of them in the air as they could and then smashed pairs of them together with the best accuracy they could manage. There had been flower petals everywhere and they were quite visible in the thank-you holo that Master Piell sent back to Roetee Zhazem for her gift.

The finale of _Skyways_ came with a lot of speeder crashes and blaster fire, along with a near-death experience that convinced the young woman that she really did love the young man pursuing her. Master Brak'cha helped with some timely use of her lightsaber, which shocked the young woman who, though she seemed to be reasonably intelligent, had not realized that her father's 'old friend' was actually a Jedi. The young man had figured it out almost immediately.

Obi-Wan shut off the holo-recorder as the artistic credits played, life-sized images of the characters zoomed up with the glowing text of each performer's name circling them.

"Did you enjoy assisting in this drama, Master?"

"I did not dislike it." He got up from his chair; his robe hung over the back, but he did not put it on. "It was an assignment and it was not unpleasant." He smiled. There were plenty of flowering plants outside along with tools for snipping off some of the blossoms.

"And now, Obi-Wan, I have some training for you."

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"Lunches!" PING!

"Snacks!" PING!

"Dinners!" PING!

"Special Ocassions!" PING! PING!

With each declaraction, super-charged with cheerfulness meant to convince the viewer that food tasted better when served on square and rectangular plates, a new delicacy appeared, presented on the miraculous quadrilateral dishes.

Qui-Gon switched the feed.

It was the second full day of rehersals and their isolation in the tower and Obi-Wan had suggested that morning, after the Castle Custodian had tended the garden and left, that they could benefit from viewing some of Director Tykon's work.

His expression turning distinctly critical, his brows lowered, Qui-Gon's had still agreed. He claimed the holoprojector controller and they sampled the public broadcasts. Aside from the usual planetary events that could be found anywhere in the galaxy - - government construction, dramatic and picturesque crime, the atmosphere, sports, on land and in large bodies of water, star activity in the local space sector - - there was plenty of information and commentary about the celebrations in the Living History Lands. They caught most of a biographical pictorial about Director Ebsi Tykon and other graduates of the Mwemas Academy who were contributing their talents to the 'sacred revelations'. Tykon's talent had been recognized when he was a very young performer, but he became globally recognized with his acclaimed directorial debut of the History Play 'Seven, Eight, Ot'. Since then, he had accumulated a couple decades of works, writing, singing, dancing, performing and directing. The pictorial rapidly flashed through a selection of scenes that might have meant something to someone who followed Tykon's work. When the holo moved on from Tykon to other artistic contributors Qui-Gon changed the feed, landing on a succession of inane interviews and advertisements that were as bad as anything they might have found on Coruscant.

" - - the Galactic Repulic!"

Qui-Gon paused.

"Look at these sweet deals!" a voice cried out. "We've got tables from Zirpok, carved from the blackest char-wood. Accents from Tidridor Five excavated from the volcanic pits of Grabru, beautifully polished, and durable; even a thermal blast won't scratch these babies." A holo of each item, transparent and twice life-size burst up from the projector. "Tables, tables, tables from the ENTIRE GALAXY."

Qui-Gon changed the feed.

" - - reproductions of the finest quality," a soothing feminine voice promised as a projected louging chair gently spun in mid-air, "but with all the most modern comforts. The Venerates devote their lives to keeping our memories alive. So you don't have to. And with a Twortwun ensemble . . . " Various furnishings and even whole rooms appeared with the loving narration. But Qui-Gon did not change the feed. Baffled by his Master's sudden fascination with a simple advertisement, Obi-Wan scrutinized the displayed merchandise, apparently intended for the observant Maarzim who did not want to suffer too much for History. His mouth opened in surprise when he spied a symbol, apparently the Twortwun logo, a half-filled circle partially covering a squat triangle. Together the two Jedi turned toward the portable fresher unit that they had been using since they arrived. The exterior was made of blond wood that matched the apartment's floor and pillars, dully polished and smooth with all rounded edges. On the door, like a very sublte embossing was the same circle and triangle logo.

Qui-Gon shrugged. "I suppose it had to come from somewhere."

* * *

**= = = End Part 24**


	25. Chapter 25

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

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**= = = Part 25**

* * *

Obi-Wan was sure that he was being punished.

He had asked to view another holo-drama that morning since their viewing of _Skyways_ had gone reasonably well. After an erractic search for biographical information about Director Tykon they had ended that with a viewing of 'Green Leaves', a recent drama that Tykon was praised for by Yana and her friends. It had been about a man regaining the love of his family after his years of profligate excess had driven them away. Tykon played his companion, who was also re-thinking his life-style. His part was critical to the story, but small. All it told them was the Tykon was capable of portraying himself as being both loud and kind at the same time. Qui-Gon had not looked too bored by the drama, he even smiled once and he conceded that Tykon's performance was memorable.

So, Obi-Wan thought that they could safely view another holo that the performers were using as reference material for Jedi. They still had a whole day before they would be needed for the History Play's dress rehearsal. But his choice of _Two in the City_ had been a huge mistake.

The two main characters were supposed to be Jedi, a darkly hued Staretisi and a pale Huctus, but they violated the Jedi Code at least three times in the first few scenes. They liked to go to parties; they shared an apartment full of useless adornments in what was supposed to be the Jedi Temple, but the interiors were unrecognizable. They did secret good deeds for 'down and out' persons in the lower levels of Coruscant, often disobeying the Council's direct orders; they accepted gifts and rewards from grateful admirers. They got into fights every chance they got with persistent jokes between them about where they would accidentally stick their lightsabers and make holes in things.

It was excrutiating. But when he got up to get rid of the offending images, Qui-Gon told him to sit down and watch. Even worse, when the Castle Custodian arrived to tend the garden, Qui-Gon would not let him shut the holo-recorder off. The woman in her low-ranking pale blue tunic only paused briefly on her way outside during a scene of the two main characters arguing about their new speeder (a gift) and who was going to drive it first.

Humiliated, Obi-Wan sank low in his seat as the Custodian went around the garden. She could clearly see through the windows what was playing on the holo-recorder as she worked. And this holo-drama had a lot of suddenly expanding images, often going to twice normal size, nearly floor to ceiling,

One of the worst punishments that Jedi Masters could inflict upon their Padawans was to give their Padawans exactly what they asked for.

When the woman returned, she stopped and, seeing a pause in the noise and action, asked if Qui-Gon was enjoying the holo-drama.

"Oh, no," Qui-Gon answered in a pleasant tone. "This is very bad. It completely mis-represents Jedi in every way. Except for the fighting, which does appear to be very accurate in form, Otherwise, this is mindless poodoo and it is quite disturbing to me that this was chosen as a reference about Jedi for the Play."

The Custodian stood for a moment with her mouth open; Qui-Gon's conflcting words and attitude confounding her before she recovered and excused herself.

Obi-Wan was out of his seat as soon as she was gone. "Master, may I turn this off, now?"

Sitting back, Qui-Gon folded his arms over his chest. "Have you not been watching, my young apprentice?"

The two Jedi characters had just chopped up a table and were trying to figure out how to stand the pieces up so no one would know they had been there.

"I believe that your assessment of this drama is accurate and that we would be wastng our time continuing with it. Should we not be training instead?"

Qui-Gon's eyebrows rose and Obi-Wan's body went rigid as he suppressed a flinch. The older man stood.

"Perhaps we should train." Leaving the holo-recorder on, Qui-Gon led Obi-Wan to the large open area of floor, conspicuously crossing over the black mark from Obi-Wan's lightsaber. Facing each other, Qui-Gon pointed first at him and then at the holo. "When they start fighting again, you will follow every move that the shorter Jedi character does. I will follow the taller one.

"We will modify our actions only to stay in place. And," Qui-Gon's eyes flicked toward the black scar on the floor, "unlike them, we will mind our blades."

Obi-Wan gulped. The holo played on; the two Jedi characters had given up on the table pieces and now slowly approached a large closed door.

He bowed. "Yes, Master."

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Qui-Gon inhaled deeply, his arms folded into the opposite sleeves of his dark brown robe. The sun had just set. He stood at the outer railing of the balcony garden, the lesser moons overhead in Maarzim's sparse starfield. Nearby, three tiny fliers pecked and batted at each other over a berry bush along with some slow moving, bumbling night insects. Down below a deep and very low hum rose from the enormous shield bubble blocking the way to their usual gardens. Distant thunder rumbled from towering clouds over the mountains behind him, matching the rumble from the enormous, faintly glowing energy shields over the castle below.

Darth Yarr's Mystery remained unresolved for him; his late afternoon meditation had brought him no new insights. The flashes of vision he'd had seemed to be connected to the Sith artifacts, especially the lightsaber. But he was unwilling to test his hosts' patience again. It would be up to the Council and the Archiveist's to determine what had really happened to the Sith Lord after they were returned to the Jedi Temple.

Tilting his head back, he inhaled the living scents of plant, flower and soil. The apartment was a life-givng and life-sustaining place, and as far as prisons went, not an unpleasant one. He heard Obi-Wan moving inside and sensed another presence.

"Master?"

He turned. Custodian Tykon stepped onto the veranda with his apprentice. He bowed to the older woman. "How may I serve you, Custodian Tykon?"

"Master Qui-Gon, I have come to beg a favor of you and your acolyte." She sighed, clasping her hands under her large bosom. "Tomorrow, I will come to escort you to the rehearsal in Tamwa Hall. Your part there is very small, only a rehearsal of your presentation to the audience. After that you will not be needed until the reception tomorrow night with the officials of the Living History Lands and the representatives from our government and this sector. I have a request, from Sebo. If you could, when you leave tomorrow morning let us move you to another room for the night before the Play? Sebo wishes to spend one last night alone in the tower."

Qui-Gon raised his brows at such a simple request. "Of course, we would be happy to. We have very little and we will take our travel packs with us."

Custodian Tykon smiled gratefully. "Thank-you. But I feel I must warn you, because of all the dignitaries staying in the Castle, the only rooms we have for you have, well, historically accurate facilities. Maybe not quite what you're used to on Coruscant." Her eyes darted toward the inside of the apartment. Qui-Gon laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder, leading her inside with Obi-Wan following.

"You have been very generous to us during our stay." He gestured toward the food prep area, the sleeping areas and the fresher unit. "I can assure you that both I and my apprentice have been to many worlds with many different facilities. I am sure that yours will be most satisfactory."

She smiled with some relief. "Thank-you, Master Qui-Gon. Your Council told us that you were very minimal and flexible in your needs, but I've had to deal with some visitors, "she said this last word in a tone that suggested a less flattering description, "who I would have expected to know where they were staying, but found reason to be unpleasant about it anyway." She went to the lift, positioning herself on it. "I will return at sunrise for you."

Qui-Gon bowed his head to her. "We will be ready."

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Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon both heard the lift and stood. They had eaten and finished reassembling their travel packs, now on the floor of the food prep area. Custodian Tykon rose up thrugh the floor in the circle of wood pillars around the lift. She smiled, obviously pleased to see them ready to go. She stepped off the lift.

Obi-Wan tensed.

Both Jedi looked around. Something was wrong. A second later an alarm sounded from outside.

Hhhooooooop! Hhhooooooop! Hhhooooooop! Hhhooooooop!

Running to the nearest door, Qui-Gon opened it and went out onto the balcony, Obi-Wan close behind hm.

"Oh, NO!" Tykon followed them out.

Not really knowing what he expected, Obi-Wan scanned the skys beyond the town. It felt like the right direction. And Qui-Gon was already looking there.

"Master Qui-Gon, please! We have to go inside, there's been an intrusion! We cant't stay here!" Tykon pleaded over the alarm.

Obi-Wan's eyes fixed on a small dot coming around a steep forested hill. Two dots, getting bigger. They were seekers, but they looked too small to be armed.

"Master Qui-Gon, please! You'll just encourage them!" Tykon fretted, dithering between staying and fleeing. Qui-Gon pointed to a spot next to a large bush.

"There."

Obi-Wan took his position, knees bent, both hands on his lightsaber hilt, the tall leafy bush by the outside railing on his right side.

"Wait for it to come to you, Obi-Wan."

He nodded.

Custodian Tykon half-crouched away from the older Jedi, trying to keep hidden from the prying seeker eyes. "Please! Come inside!"

Obi-Wan's eyes flicked to the side, but all he saw was thick dark green foliage. An approaching whine rose over the Castle's whooping intruder alert. Qui-Gon stood at attention, his arms tucked into his robe sleeves as if in greeting to the fast approaching spy droids.

The on-rushing whine whizzed past, the tone immediately lowering as the two seekers split up short of the apartment and circling around. Obi-Wan thought of nothing, a haze of perception in the Force covered his senses. The droids were bright, jarring points of light, zipping around in opposing arcs. The lightsabe hilt was warm in his hands.

FFFFFffff-fffzzz-zzzz - - mmm - - ppppttt - - tttTTT!

His lightsaber upswing cut the body of the seeker coming from behind him in half.

"Wwwwhhhaaaaa - -!"

The spy droid vocalized only half a word of surprise as the two pieces crashed and skidded onto the balcony, shedding sparks and broken bits and knocking over two potted plants. Custodian Tykon cried out and jumped back away from the half that rolled up to her feet. Obi-Wan extinguished his saber, mindful of the plants. The remaining droid whine shot upward. With Qui-Gon right behind it.

Obi-Wan saw his Master crest over the droid, his bright green saber blade cleaving it in half as he descended past the flash and exploding sparks. He vaulted off the roof, flipped in the air over the jutting spikes and landed in nearly the same spot he had calmly stood in only seconds before. Extinguished saber in one hand, he seized Custodian Tykon by the arm, yanking her toward him. Rolling down from the roof, half a seeker droid, squealing and spitting, crashed to the floor boards of the balcony in the spot where the large older woman had been standing. The other half followed it a second later.

Exhaling, Obi-Wan relaxed his focus, the Force fading from his view leaving only his exhileration behind. Custodian Tykon panted from the excitement, looking from one section of cleaved seeker droid to another. Patting her chest, she glared up at Qui-Gon, who had folded his arms again, his lightsaber safely tucked away on his belt under his robe. Obi-Wan assumed the same posture.

"I cannot approve of your methods, Master Qui-Gon, but," she scanned the damage again. "I cannot say I am displeased with your results, either." She went inside and the Jedi followed. Pausing only to com to her staff that the snooper droids had been neutralized and to order a clean-up, she went down the lift first. The two Jedi followed, standing close together on the descending platform.

Obi-Wan followed Qui-Gon, who followed Custodian Tykon down the long spiral staircase of the tower. Golden dawn sunlight shone through the windows on one side. Their boot steps echoed from the stone stairs. The sunbeams scanned up and over Qui-Gon's travel pack, a much smaller burden on the larger man's broad back than Obi-Wan's was for him. He had grown in the last year and probably would in the next, but it was clear that he would never be as tall as his Master.

After all the delays and waiting, they were finally nearing the end of their mission. After their minor contribution to the final rehearsals, they would not be needed until the evening formalities with the dignitaries who would be attending the History Play. After that would be the day of the Play itself and the party afterwards at which they were obligated to make an appearance. Custodian Tykon had promised a transport to take them directly to the spaceport with none of the missteps and problems that had accompanied their arrival. Apparently their disorganized and poor reception, and Qui-Gon's illness, had filtered all the way up to the top levels of the planetary government. Someone had realized that Jedi had the diplomatic rank of ambassador in the Galactic Republic. Maarzim would be providing them a transport to take them directly back to Coruscant as soon as they were ready to leave.

They finally reached the bottom and went down to the gallery where they were met by a tall young man with excellent posture , very short dark brown hair and a complexion as smooth and perfect as dark polished wood. Standing beside and slightly behind his Master, Obi-Wan scratched a spot on his chin before suppressing the impulse.

"This is Custodian Grawden, one of my assistants," Tykon introduced him. "He will take your bags to your new rooms and then escort you there when you are finished here."

Grawden bowed; he wore long pale tunics with a very fine line of sliver along the edges. He took their bags and left. They followed Custodian Tykon into the gallery. It had become another place.

At one end on the left was a large, ornate security cage with several Castle Custodians and people in blue and silver body armor conferring over data terminals on a long table. Their command post was decoratively complimentary to the stonework of the Castle, and it formed a gate, blocking the staircase leading up to the gallery. On the right was a platform, stairs leading up to it to allow people to mount one of the hover plaforms lining the railing of the gallery. Around that was a crowd of people, Castle staff in blue, people in loose tunics and skirts. Obi-Wan recognized some of the faces from the stage construction crew. Most of them had signs hanging around their necks with names on them, 'Chancellor Mwetta', 'Sub-Chancellor Gemour', 'Secretary Lemwak', 'Councilor Twirot' and more. Below the gallery, Tamwa Hall had been converted into a very convincing theater with rows and rows of seats for a very large audience, the mostly black stage and seating for the musicians between them. Daylight and the tall windows were gone under false walls. Decorative clusters of artificial lights hung from the ceilings and walls. Morning or the middle of the night, it would have looked the same. Discordant musical sounds rose up from the orchestra.

Custodian Tykon led them to the group. All of the people with signs around their necks stayed a few respectful paces away when they recognized the Jedi and the head Castle Custodian. Assistant Stage Director Eris Mwat, still unshaven and disheveled, climbed up on the platform and raised his hands for their attention, shapeless gray sleeves hanging from his skinny arms.

When he had their attention, he welcomed them and had Custodian Tykon and her senior assistants join him. They would be herding the dignitaries for the Play the next day. The planetary dignitaries came first.

Mwat had the people bearing the names of the Living History Lands officials line up. He pointed at a handheld comp screen and gave it and two more to Tykon and her assistants.

Next came the Maazim Councilors, their staffs, a few off-world ambassadors and the off-world Venerates, the Jedi.

"Now this run-through is for the stage techs to work out any problems with the presentations. Custodian Tykon will be here to help tomorrow."

"I believe that we can remember our place in line," Qui-Gon assured him.

Last came the Castle Venerates, Tykon and her senior staff. Each group, in twos and threes would be presented to the audience below, stepping onto their floater only after their names were announced. Then they would be carried to their viewing platforms where they would stand for a moment, bow and then be seated. The next people could not be introduced until they sat down. Black curtains had been hung by the gallery railing and now they were closed so that only the platform could be seen from below.

Mwat's eyes scanned up and down the names on the signs, then he commed that they were ready and Tykon confirmed that on her own com that she produced from an inside pocket of her tunic. The line moved forward. The lights suddenly changed, dim to bright. One. Two. Three. Four.

"Sentients! Communicants! Devotees!" A booming, exited voice called out, filling the huge room along with a swell of music from the orchestra. Colored light beams flashed in random directions. "Welcome! To the Naardin Castle of the Naardin Living History Lands! Welcome to the Presentation of the TRAGEDY OF DARTH YARR!"

* * *

**= = = End Part 25**


	26. Chapter 26

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 26**

* * *

The orchestra swept through a dramatic section of music. "To officially welcome you, the newly appointed Chancellor of the Living History Lands, Twees Awn MWETTA!" A woman in tan clothes with the Chancellor's name hanging around her neck stepped forward on the platform and the lights all converged on her. She winced from the brightness and backed up a step. Mwatt's com sounded and he answered it.

"How are they going to do this with the Chancellor?" a Person nearby asked Someone Else.

"The Chancellor and all the others have done this for all the other History Plays. They kept the layout and the routine the same, just changed all the names for each one," Someone Else answered in the shadows where the bright lights weren't shining.

"All right, lets try it again," Mwatt called out. The show lights went down, the music went out with a few objecting horn blasts; the regular lighting returned instantly and Tamwa Hall went back to being a huge empty indoor theater.

There were a couple more false starts with different things going wrong. The orchestra missed their cue. Something loud crashed behind the black walls at the back of the stage. The announcer coughed. But they finally got the pseudo-Chancellor out onto her floater. Then her pseudo staff. The pseudo-senior members of the Maarzim government. The pseudo-off-world ambassadors.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan took their places on the platform.

"Venerate Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Venerate Jedi Apprentice Obi-Wan KENOBI!" The music swelled again. Arms folded before them inside the sleeves of their robes, they both half-closed their eyes in the glare and presented themselves to a theater full of sound, lights and empty chairs. They stepped forward together and the floater took them away. It was a very smooth ride, with good inertial compensation, over to their viewing platform where they stepped off, formally stood, bowed and then sat down.

They stayed seated while the announcer called out the Castle staff. The chairs were comfortable with plush red seats and high backs, with Qui-Gon's chair half a step higher than Obi-Wan's. They had a full view of the tilted stage on the front right side. Resting in a slot by the right armrests of each seat was a flat handheld data screen, but they were dark and wouldn't activate. The introductions were soon over, the orchestra wound down and the normal room lights came back. They could hear people calling out and talking below, but not what was being said. After a few minutes a voice that was not the announcer filled the Hall.

"All right, we've had some problems with the recorders. We need to try it again one more time."

Moans echoed in the Hall. Some people in the orchestra made rude noises with their instruments. The two Jedi stood and waited for their turn to get a ride back to the platform on one of the floaters. When not in use, the floaters parked themselves high up by the walls on either side of the stage.

Back in the modified gallery, the atmosphere had turned casual, people softly chatting, making jokes. Except around the Jedi.

Obi-Wan detected a noticeable zone of silence immediately around them. He supposed that it was because they were real Venerates and not the Castle staff that everyone else was used to. Qui-Gon stood in his formal semi-meditative pose and Obi-Wan did the same, feeling annoyed that, between his confrontations with Director Tykon and jumping out of the tower, his Master had made himself so infamous on this mission.

The second rehearsal of their entrances proceeded with no problems and they were released when it was done, though Mwatt spoke to them briefly before they left. Since Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan knew the Mystery, they would be taken to a special, private place with the Castle Custodians for the intermission, separate even from the Chancellor and other highly placed partons. Qui-Gon thanked him and they left.

There was a gate now blocking the corridor back to the tower and it appeard that Custodian Tykon was staying for the Play rehearsals. Unconcerned, Qui-Gon joined the others and Obi-Wan followed them through the security gate out of the gallery.

Custodian Grawden met them at the entrance to the corridor leading to other parts of the Castle. He apologized for their circuitous route. With Tamwa Hall and its adjacent rooms devoted to the History Play, the direct path to their new rooms was blocked. On their way through the Castle passageways Obi-Wan saw much more activity than he had seen only a few days ago. Stacks of new supplies in open courtyards being distributed, people cleaning and scrubbing with old fashioned instruments, floaters of furniture and fresher units similar to one they had been using in the tower apartment. Everyone walked quickly, but they always stood aside for their escort when they saw the Jedi behind him. They finally reached a door at the end of a short corridor off a busy main one. A temporary sign designating it as a guest room covered up a more permanent plaque. Grawden opened the door and gave Qui-Gon the key slat. They first entered a sitting room dominated by a large desk and stout low chairs. The walls were dark blue with inset dark wood cabinets. Behind the desk, screened windows opened into a garden courtyard where a crew distributed boxes to a line of Custodians. Along with the scents of flowers and plants, the savory scents drifting in from outside indicated a food preparation facility somewhere nearby.

Grawden led them into a second room dominated by a large sleeping platform in a heavy dark wooden frame, their packs rested on a padded bench at the end. He manually slid open a door and held a hand out to the fresher. There was an enormous bathing tub made of polished stone, cabinets, a big stone wash basin and another sliding door that their guide pushed open and a light came on. There was the usual seat, sized for typical humanoids, for elimination of bodily waste along with an aromatic bundle of leaves hanging from the ceiling. Grawden put his hands together.

"Naardin reclaims all waste as it has for thousands of years. All of the Living History Lands live in harmony with the native fauna which we also preserve. All - - "

"Eeeeeeeee-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk. Eeeeeeee-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk!"

It wasn't loud, but it definitely came from below, from the fresher seat, along with a faint trickling sound of water. Grawden winced.

"Just as there is an ecology that we support and are supported by up above, there is also one down below and - - "

"Eeeeee-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk! Mwah-mwah-mwah-mawh-mwah-mwah."

Obi-Wan suppressed a smile and he could see his Master doing the same.

"And sometimes the below-fauna is more active - - "

"Mwah-mwah-mwah-mawh-mwah-mwah-mawh-mwah-mwah."

Qui-Gon raised his hand. "I trust that there are sufficient barriers between the fauna above and below? And that these facilities otherwise work in the usual way?"

"Yes, of course," Grawden assured them with relief. "But some guests find the noises disturbing, especially at night, so we usually assign guests to the towers. Particularly this time of year."

"This time of year?" Qui-Gon inquired.

Grawden grimaced. "It's mating season."

Obi-Wan lowered his head and covered his mouth.

"Eeeee-eeee-eee-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk! Mwah-mwah-mwah-mawh-mwah-mwah-mwah-mawh."

"It will not disturb us. We have dealt with far more challenging facilities. This will do fine."

Such as Jedi survival training where the 'facilities' were a hole and a lightsaber. But Obi-Wan did not say anything.

They left the fresher. Grawden offered the Castle services for cleaning any of their clothes, but they had already used the unit in the tower on the previous evening and had clean changes of clothes in their travel packs. Grawden bowed and promised to return at midday meal and later when they were needed for the official reception. He bowed and excused himself.

"Custodian Grawden."

Standing in the doorway, the young man turned.

"Please thank Custodian Tykon for the use of her rooms tonight. My Padawan has told me how crowded conditions have been for you while preparing for this event. We appreciate her sacrifice."

Grawden smiled and nodded back. "I will tell her." He left.

* * *

**%% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %%**

* * *

"So, everything has been going well, during your stay on our world?" The Minister of Public Resources balanced his drink and small plate in one hand while popping golden nuggets of reception snacks into his mouth with the other. He chewed with his mouth open.

"Yes, except for the delays, everything seems to be going well, though you would need to ask the other members of the Creative Committee for any details. My Padawan and I spent most of our time in the tower."

"Oh, well we can't talk to them. Not before the big performance." He laughed and a little chunk of nugget came flying out. "But while you were . . . interacting with them, there weren't any conflicts or anything?" The government official looked up at Qui-Gon with inquisitive brown eyes.

Qui-Gon gave him a minimal shrug. "Not really."

"Ooooh." Disappointed, he sipped his drink. He had cornered Qui-Gon by a tall plant near the edge of the outdoor garden where the reception was being held. It was fairly standard for diplomatic affairs. Food. Drink. A receiving line with the new Chancellor of the Living History Lands. She was a modestly dressed, pleasant, slim, small older woman with a warm smile and very short, silvering black hair. She worked the reception line with a politician's skill and an attention to detail like a mother welcoming her new family. The Castle Custodians muttered favorably about their first meeting after their turns in the line.

When the Jedi presented themselves to her, she smiled up at Qui-Gon; the top of her head barely reached the middle of his chest.

"So, you're the one who is supposed to have tamed the wild and mighty Tykon."

Qui-Gon did not answer her comment with anything more than an eyebrow raise and she did not follow it up with any questions to worm out any juicy, delectable details about what was rumored to have been going on during the auditions . . . . unlike the Minister of the Public Resources, who finally got bored with Qui-Gon's vague answers and moved on. The sky above was darkening, lanterns above coming on. The party would break up soon. It was only a formality. Afterwards, the new Chancellor and her staff would be meeting with the Castle Custodians about the mundane details of the new regime.

By the refreshment table, Obi-Wan, holding a plate full of food, chatted with a couple of off-world ambassadors. Qui-Gon was pleased to see that his apprentice was quite skillful at deflecting the intrusive queries about the History Play auditions. He was showing some talent for diplomacy, a very positive and useful characteristic for a young Jedi. Obi-Wan disdained politicians as much as Qui-Gon did, but he had learned how to be civil with them and even see their points of view, even if they were disagreeable to him.

From the corner of his eye, Qui-Gon saw another Minister eyeing him speculatively, sizing him up for an approach. Qui-Gon pushed himself away from the plant. They had done their diplomatic duty for the day; it was time to collect his apprentice and retreat.

* * *

**%% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %%**

* * *

"Eeeee-ee-ee-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk! Mwah-mwah-mwah-mawh-mwah-mwah-mwah-mawh-mwah."

"Pfff-kkk."

"Obi-Wan."

"Sorry, Master."

"Eee-ee-ee-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk! Eeeeee-ee-ee-tk-tk-tk-tk! Mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah-mawh-mwah. Eeee-tk-tk-tk! Mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah-mawh-mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah-mawh- mwah."

"Ppp-ff-pp-fff-kkk."

"Obi-Wan."

"Sorry, Master. Pp-fff-kk."

Qui-Gon opened his eyes and turned to his apprentice. They sat cross-legged on the bench at the end of the sleeping platform in their temporary room. The noise was not very loud at all, but even with the doors to the fresher closed, the amorous denizens of the Naardin sewers made themselves heard. Obi-Wan had a hand to his mouth, hiding a grin.

The biggest distraction to a clear mind to the Force was not noise, nor threat of dismemberment, hot, cold, nor even itchy clothes. It was humor. And if the Padawan started laughing then there was not going to be a lot of meditating. Worse, with more than one Padawan, the giggles were contagious. Humor and laughter were healthy, but there was a time and place for them. And this was not it.

"You find our new surroundings funny, my young apprentice?" They had both washed and used the facilities while the noises continued, with plenty of time for Obi-Wan to adapt to the novelty.

"Sorry. I was just imagining what their other guests must think about those creatures and what they're doing."

Imagination was also a great distraction to the focus a Jedi needed to train.

"I would presume that is why they lodge their guests in the towers of the Castle where the activities down below cannot be heard - - "

"Ee-ee-ee-tk-tk-tk-tk! Eeeeee-ee-ee-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk!

" - - Perhaps," Qui-Gon unfolded his long legs. "Custodian Tykon's desk may have a holo-receiver in it and we could check the public feeds to find out more information about these creatures and that would satisfy your curiosity about them?"

Immediately straightening, Obi-Wan assumed a more serious posture. "No, Master. That won't be necessary." He faced forward, his Padawan's lock in profile, and closed his eyes, arms resting on his knees.

Qui-Gon quirked his own smile that his apprentice could not see. He resumed his position and cleared his mind.

"Mwaaaaaaaaah-mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah-m wah-mwah."

* * *

**= = = End Part 26**


	27. Chapter 27

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 27**

* * *

"Master Qui-Gon." The Castle Custodian bowed to him. "Venerate Sebo, Lady of the Tower wishes to see you, backstage, before the Play begins."

People were assembling in the gallery over Tamwa Hall. A voice had just announced that the doors were now open and that the audience was welcome to enter and be seated.

"Is there time? Before the Play starts?"

She nodded. "Yes, if we are quick."

He turned to Obi-Wan. "I will return." He did not wait for an answer as he strode away with the hurrying woman, past the platform to the far end of the gallery and around a corner.

It was a dead end.

"If you could please turn your back Venerate Jedi M - - "

With and impatient huff, Qui-Gon felt the Force around him, stretching out to the barrier. He waved a hand at the wall.

"HUH?!" The woman gasped at the opening he made.

"You said we needed to be quick." He went in first, but he waited for her to close the door behind them. She led him down metalloid, spiral stairs that had padding on the steps, muffling the sound of their descent. At the bottom, she paused fretfully and again, Qui-Gon opened the hidden door. Closing that door behind them, she led him out of a small dark room into a lighted corridor. They went toward the sounds of activity, and finally emerged through a set of double doors that slid aside, admitting them into a wide corridor of busy anxiety and fear. Peformers in costume, faces painted, perfumed and sweating, jittered through warm up exercises while technicians fussed over their clothes and hair. Someone called out a warning that the Hall was hot.

His guide led him past improvised work spaces and panicking performers. A few startled and jumped from his passing, but most were too self-involved to note his presence at all. The Custodian stopped at a dark door with a stylized symbol of a tall tower on it. The door slid partially open and the Custodian stepped back. He went inside,

Sebo closed the door. It was a tiny room with desk, mirrors and lights. Qui-Gon's eyes immediately went to the body-form with the Darth Yarr costume on it. And the small table with the open, triple-sealing transport container, Yarr's artifacts resting in their places.

"You intend to use these for your Play," he accused.

The fear left her eyes; she lifted her head in defiance. "Yes. And I wanted to warn you that Director Tykon has not given up on you playing my opposite at the end."

"Really? And how does he propose to accomplish that?"

She drew a breath to calm herself. "The shadow dances will be presented in pairs, the dancers coming and going on their own platforms on either side of the stage. When it is my turn, my platform witll pass by Custodian Tykon's seat and I will ascend it from there. A matching, empty platform will pass by your seat at the same time. That is your cue to join me." Her expression turned hopeful. "They'll swing around above the back of the stage, facing each other.

He frowned. "You are working with him."

"Yes," she hissed. "It's perfect. My final act as Venerate here. You have to do it!"

He shook his head, suddenly disgusted. Sebo wore a black body suit, covering everything and revealing how much she was not a Sith Lord. Putting on the mask and the black and red Yarr costume would be a travesty. It would be a degrading and embarrassing final act, a sad and flabby pretend-villaim clumsily swinging around a red lightsaber up in front of thousands of gawkers.

"No." He stepped forward, forcing her back to the wall in the tiny room. "I will not." He turned back to the box of Yarr's artifacts. "This needs to be sealed. Now. You have plenty of Play props to work with. And all the performers must have back-ups. Director Tykon will have to be satisfied with those."

"No! They are the sacred relics! They _must_ be in the Play - -"

He whirled back on her. "They are not sacred!" He grabbed her arms, pushing her hard against the wall. "They are the symbols of an evil that thousands of Jedi died to banish from the galaxy a thousand years ago!" He lifted her up. She weighted nothing, her soft body yielding against him, her belly, her breasts. Suddenly dropping her, her turned again back to the box. If he sealed it, triple-sealed it, it could not be opened until it was returned to the Jedi Temple. The travesty could never happen. He raised his hand, but the box remained immobile, the holocron and lightsaber glinting back at him.

"Where is the key?"

"I - I don't have it."

His head snapped back to her.

_Lie._

He seized her again, lifting her up, pressing himself hard into her body. "You. Will. Give it to me."

She panted back, her brown eyes wide and dialated, nearly black with fear and anticipation. They turned red.

Everything went red.

"Aaauuhhh!"

Qui-Gon threw himself back, drawing in a desperate breath. It was icy cold. She dropped all the way down to the floor. The lights in the room suddenly shifted back to white and blue. The sweat on his face and under his clothes turned clammy. He stared down at the woman, huddled on the floor, her eyes still large and black with longing.

Turning back to the box, he lunged, seizing the holocron with his bare hand. His own ightsaber in his other hand - - he didn't remember grabbing it - - he held up the holocron and dared to stare into it.

There was nothing. It was empty.

The flash of the Dark Side that had seized him was gone as if it had never been there.

He did not even feel the clean chill from his earlier vision, so cold it was hot. He threw the holocron down, but it did not break. Even ancient holocrons were not that fragile. It just bounced and rolled under the table. Sebo grunted, climbing to her feet. He whirled back to her.

"I will not do it. You will have to use someone else."

Before she could speak, he slammed his hand down on the door control and left.

* * *

**%% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %%**

* * *

The Hall was full. Not just with people, but with their sounds, their random, all-voice mutterings and the low, nearly inaudible rumble of air recyclers overhead.

Obi-Wan stood in the velvety dark behind the curtains, waiting in the line of dignitaries to be presented before the Play. He wondered about Yana, her friends and all the other performers. Years of practice had led to this moment, just as a Jedi's training led to the Trials and Knighthood. He did not know if this one performance was as important to them, but it was the only equivalence he could think of.

Through the opening at the platform he saw the lights in the Hall go down and up four times. Worried, he looked around. Where was Qui-Gon?

Suddenly Qui-Gon appeared, the hood of his robe on, pushing past Custodian Tykon and her assistants. He did not stop to apologize as he took his place in line.

"Master?"

"Here." Qui-Gon grabbed his shoulders and pointed hm forward. Surprised, Obi-Wan complied. When he tried to turn around, Qui-Gon grabbed his shoulders again and pointed him forward again. "They're starting."

The lights in the Hall went down. The crowd noise from below snuffed out.

"Sentients! Communicants! Devotees!" the announcer began. Colored lights flashed in the hall. Qui-Gon's hands lifted Obi-Wan's hood and put it on his head. They had not rehearsed with their hoods up, but otherwise the presentations went as planned. The line moved forward and when it was their turn the audience below 'ooohed' and 'aaaahed'. They stepped onto the floater platform and it delivered them to their high viewing platform where they would watch the Play. The lights were not nearly as blinding with his hood to shield his face; that seemed to be a good choice. After their bow, they sat down, the lights left them and the next persons were introduced.

The data screens on the handheld screen in the slots by their seat armrests were lit. It was the play roster. The opening page had just the title 'The Tragedy of Darth Yarr' and in smaller glowing text at the bottom 'The Living History of the Lady of the Tower of Naardin Castle'. Obi-Wan touched the arrows and found a primary menu of options; writing and technical credits, character names, lyrics, revelation. He tried to access the lyrics and revelation, but he got a screen that said it was 'unavailable at this time' but promised a download of the revelation, lyrics and whole play in text along with a complimentary special holo-recording download of the performance itself, after the conclusion of the Play.

Going to the credits, he found the Creative Committee, the performers and their parts, the orchestra, the technical crew, the stage crew and builders, the holo production, the audition crew and a list of Naardin Castle Custodians and Living History Lands patrons. He scanned all the lists carefully. His name was not on any of them. Looking up, he wondered if it was important for him to be credited. Glancing to his side, he saw his Master staring straight forward, his face in shadow under the hood of his robe.

He shrugged. It didn't matter.

"WELCOME, welcome all!" the announcer's voice boomed over the applause of the audience. Custodian Tykon and her staff had just taken their seats. A huge cheer rose up. "Welcome to your HISTORY!" The roar increased.

The lights dimmed, the audience silencing as if the lack of light stole their voices.

"I am the Lady of the Tower, whose name was so dangerous it was taken from her." It was Sebo. An enormous bluish holo-projection of her face appeared over the stage, her shawl draped over her head, very faint at first, growing brighter as she spoke. "Who grew old and died there as Cloras the First rose to power and later united this world again from the chaos after the fall of the Sith Lord. I am the keeper of her name. I hold the Mystery. I live her life."

The head lowered its eyes and faded away. The audience hushed.

The orchestra spun up, grandly starting with an imposing overture, then switching to other tunes, fast and slow, until the medley wound down to a few instruments repeating the same refrain. Gray shapes formed on the black wall behind the stage and then resolved into projected rocks and boulders, forested hills in the background and a fortress with only a few towers, none of them taller than half the height of the body of the fortress itself, Naardin Castle in an earlier time. Real looking boulders, rocks and tall trees floated in and assumed their places. A jagged pebbled path rolled out, zig-zagging across the black stage. Two figures appeared on the left. One in blue, the other in dark gray and pale pink. They both carried lightsabers on their belts. The music rose.

The one in blue, Keth, began to sing. Obi-Wan looked down at his Play roster and saw the words flow by on the screen.

**. . . **

**Keth: "We have a mission**

**A Jedi mission – destroy the Sith Lord!**

**Destroy the all Sith in their lairs!"**

**. . .**

Keth had a fine voice; he was tall and broad-shouldered, his hair reddish-blond with a high receding hairline. His apprearance had been changed, now he looked older than any of the youthful performers Obi-Wan had seen during the auditions. He waved his arms out wide as if he was declaring himself to the rocks. Then Minigan sang.

**. . .**

**Minigan: "We have a mission,**

**A Jedi mission**

**And we have come to end**

**The evil Sith Lord's nightmare!"**

**. . .**

Then they sang together, leaping to stand next to each other, their outside arms out.

**. . .**

**Keth and Minigan: "We have a mission**

**To defeat the Sith!**

**With lightsabers and**

**Wielding the Force we are with!"**

**. . .**

They sang beautiful harmony, the two voices complimenting each other. Minigan was shorter, slimmer with golden skin and brown hair graying at the temples, again looking much older than the performers in the auditions. Minigan was also played by a woman, though 'she' looked very convincingly masculine, obviously meant to be a 'he' for the Play.

On either side, two floater platforms emerged high over the stage, one with a person in white accented in tan and swinging a blue lightsaber, one in gray accented in pink with a red lightsaber. Their blades were pale, not nearly as bright as the ones used in the auditions, but the black background behind them made them look bright enough. They both wore masks and 'fought' each other from opposite ends of the stage as the song continued.

Keth stepped away, separate from his partner for his next lines.

**. . .**

**Keth: "This is my home world. It was my home world,**

**Before-the-Jedi-came-and-took-me-to-teach-me-the-m ysteries-of-the-Force,**

**When-I-was-just-a-boy-of-sixteen-and-just-learning -about-girls."**

**. . .**

Minigan followed him.

**. . .**

**Minigan: "We have a mission**

**Defeat the Sith Lord!"**

**. . .**

Keth edged away from him. Minigan hopped toward him.

**. . .**

**Minigan: "We have a - - -"**

**. . .**

Keth leaped away and the lights suddenly brightened on him, the music going loud and harsh.

**. . .**

**Keth: "The Jedi don't allow love or hate or avarice!**

**You swear yourself to live a life of selfless service!**

**And follow the Jedi Code!**

**You give your life before you know what living is!**

**At sixteen, sixteen, I became a Jedi!"**

**. . .**

Keth paused, the lights went down. He took a step back closer to Minigan.

**. . .**

**Keth: "We have a mission."**

**. . .**

They threw their arms around each other's shoulders.

**. . .**

**Keth and Minigan: "We have a mission**

**To defeat the Sith!**

**With lightsabers and**

**Wielding the Force we are with!**

**. . . **

**"We have a mission . . . .**

**defeat the Sith Lord!**

**What can't we do? The Force is with us!**

**How could the evil Sith defeat us?**

**They rule this world. Defeat the scum!**

**The Dark will fall. The Light has come!**

**. . .**

**"What can't we do? We are the Jedi!**

**It is our time, we will win or die!**

**"We have to try,**

**We'll win of course!**

**There is no try,**

**We wield the Force!**

**. . .**

**"What can't we do? The Force is with us!**

**How could the evil Sith defeat us?**

**Our mission is our life!"**

**. . .**

Keth broke away again, head down.

**. . .**

**Keth: "Because I'm a Jedi. . . ."**

**. . .**

The Jedi and Sith figures continued their dance but their platforms pulled back until they disappeared behind the tall black sides of the stage as the last notes faded.

* * *

**= = = End Part 27**

* * *

( 'We've Got A Mission' is roughly filked from 'I've Got a Theory' from 'Once More with Feeling' - - _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_.)


	28. Chapter 28

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 28**

* * *

The two Jedi, having finished their singing, discussed how they were going to defeat Yarr, their target. Their conversation ranged over what they knew about the Sith, the Light and Dark sides of the Force, the Council and other details that sounded historically right from what Obi-Wan had reviewed about Jedi history during Yarr's time. But while they talked on the left side of the stage, a woman stealthily entered, going from rock to rock, creeping closer to the inattentive Jedi. She had dark, short shaggy hair, peppered with gray, Obi-Wan recognized the shapeless, coarsely woven Nirid costume. He consulted his Play roster. Adie Tykon-Tuzie played the parts of Nirid and Yarr, but was only credited as Nirid. And she now looked and moved completely differently now from the smiling blond woman he had met.

Keth suddenly tensed, dramatically stepping forward.

"I feel a disturbance in the Force!"

Minigan alerted, the tail of his headband flapping back and forth as he looked both ways around them. "It is the Dark Side, my friend." Both of them still somehow missed seeing the woman in plain sight, spyng on them.

Keth nodded, and conceded that the influence of the Sith Lord nearby was strong. The two wandered off the stage to the left as the woman who watched them moved to the center, the lights focusing on her, the stage behind her going dark. The orchestra played a dainty tune. The roster in Obi-Wan's lap glowed with the words she sang.

******. . . **

**"Jedi Knights**

**See them there**

**Is it him?**

**Returning?**

**Is it Keth?**

**My old love**

**Come back home**

**From above.**

******. . . **

**"When I loved you, we were both so young.**

**When I loved you, we were**

**Learning how to learn to love and - -"**

**. . . **

She raised her arms up above her head, twirled and stretched them out to where the Jedi had gone and then back to touch herself, throwing herself into the song.

******. . . **

**"Find ourselves**

**In the dark**

**Sweaty nights**

**Breathing hard**

**Clumsy moves**

**Touching me**

**Touching you**

**You're my first.**

******. . . **

**"When I loved you life had just begun,**

**Not just a crush or a one night stand,**

**Yes, you were the one.**

**I never said before you were gone.**

******. . . **

**"You went and left this love we gained**

**To a world where you would be trained**

**By a Master who said, 'tough,**

**That I was not good enoooo-ooough."**

**. . . **

She struck out at the air in frustration, but the dainty tune continued, her tone still earnest.

******. . . **

**"So you went**

**Left this world**

**Left our love**

**Far behind**

**Now you're back**

**Now you'll see**

**Things have changed**

**Come to me.**

******. . . **

**"When I loved you we were both - - -"**

**. . . **

"Hooooo!"

A loud male voice calling from offstage startled her. Gasping, she turned around and then ran off. Guads in maroon and gray armor marched across the back of the stage. A woman's low voice shouted, "Hooo!". Guards ran across the back of the stage in the opposite direction, shouting. "Jedi, my Lord!" another voice shouted; another called back. "Go! Tell our Lord! I will face them! Go!" Nirid ran across the stage and darted behind one of the rocks.

A performer in shiny silver armor accented in red, yellow, green and black strode in with black boots and gauntlets and a mostly black lgithsaber on a wide silver belt. A black cape billowed behind the Sith taking center stage to announce his intention to kill the Jedi and present the bodies to his Master, Darth Yarr. A platform of a Sith, standing proud in shiny dark gray and red, floated high over the back of the stage. The Sith - - the Play roster said it was Hulus - - spotted the girl and demanded to know why she was spying on him. Terrified, she denied it and shouted that she loved Master Yarr as much as anyone. She asked why Hulus would risk confronting two dangerous Jedi alone. Was he ready for such a challenge?

The music resumed again.

******. . . **

**"A Sith's gotta do what a Sith's gotta do.**

**The Dark Side will be the end of those two.**

**I'll defeat them, kill the Jedi, gain my Master's love**

**Soon they'll lie dead at my feet, their throats crushed in my glove - - "**

**. . . **  
Hulus's intentions were rudely interrupted by Keth and Minigan rushing back on stage. Two Jedi figures in pale blue and pale gray tunics confronted the Sith figure, their floaters circling but never coming close to each other. Their pale lightsaber blades swung about as they struck threatening poses at each other.

Hulus's red lightstick blade shot out, humming ominously. On stage, it was a very good imitation of a real lightsaber. Keth's blue and Minigan's green blades shot out.

******. . . **

**Minigan: "Stand back evil Sith, we've come to take you down!**

**We'll vanquish the Dark Side and liberate this town!"**

**Keth: "We're Jedi Knights who've come**

**To save the day and the evil Sith will be undone!"**

**********. . . **

Minigan confronted Hulus while Keth went to Nirid.

******. . . **

**Minigan: "A Knight's gotta do what a Knight's gotta do!**

**This day will end with us defeating you!**

**Your end is near, your time is done, you've come to meet your death!**

**So face us now, it's time for your last breath."**

**. . . **

Hulus and Minigan's lightsabers clashed while Keth knelt, his mouth open in surprise as Nirid sang to him.

******. . . **

**Nirid: "Thank you Jedi Knight it must have been our fate**

**That just now you came to me and you were not too late,**

**But I think I know you, and I think that you know me.**

**Thank you Keth for saving me."**

**. . . **

The two of them started singing over each other, but their melodies matched:

******. . . **

**Keth: "Nirid? Is it you?**

**A Knight's gotta do what a Knight's gotta do!"**

**Nirid: . . . "You came from above . . . ."**

**. . . **

Minigan dodged a close swipe of Hulus's lightsaber.

******. . . **

**Minigan: "Uh, I could use a little help here!"**

**. . . **

Keth seemed to have forgotten about his partner as he and Nirid rose together, their hands clasped.

******. . . **

**Keth: "Seems destiny comes with me saving you."**

**Nirid: ". . . You were my first love . . . ."**

**. . . **

Hulus kept attacking with vicious blows.

******. . . **

**Minigan: "The Sith Lord's still here Keth!"**

**Keth: "I'm sorry you were hurt when I left that way."**

**Nirid: "My heart is beating like a drum."**

**. . . **

Hulus swept his lightsaber low and Minigan jumped over it.

******. . . **

**Minigan: "Did you notice that the fight was over here?"**

**. . . **

The three of them sang over each other in compliementary harmony. Minigan gained the advantage and struck blow after blow, driving Hulus back.

******. . . **

**Keth: "It has been years but now it seems like only yesterday."**

**Nirid: "I'm seeing you again."**

**. . . **

Minigan swiped Hulus in the leg and Obi-Wan saw smoke and a black gash appear. he sat forward.

******. . . **

**Minigan: "It's do or die! Because we're supposed to be Jedi!"**

**. . . **

Stabbing downward, Minigan impaled Hulus in the chest. Obi-Wan sat forward. From his angle he could see that the blade did not go through, the lightstick just retracted as Minigan pushed the prop hilt in. Hulus made a very good show of convulsing and dying.

**. . . **

**Keth: "Finding you again makes this a bright new day."**

**Nirid: "Maybe it's the dawn of a brand new day."**

**. . . **

Keth and Nirid were still clasping hands, staring into each other's eyes while Minigan stood over the body.

******. . . **

**Minigan: "What-eeeeeee-ver."**

**. . . **

Minigan knelt, picked up Hulus's lightsaber and put it on his belt. The music died down; the Jedi and Sith figures retreated behind the tall black walls. The crowd below cheered and applauded.

"Great." Minigan retracted his blue lightsaber prop, He pointed it away from the audience so they could see the blade disappear but not how mechanical it looked from Obi-Wan's point of view above and on the side.

Obi-Wan glanced up at his Master to see his reaction to such a ridiculous fight. But Qui-Gon had not moved as if he wasn't watching the Play at all. The two Jedi on stage implored Nirid to help them. It was the scene fragment that Obi-Wan heard over and over again for the Nirid auditions. Keth finally prevailed and with many warnings about the danger, she led the two men off the stage.

The stage lights faded down, the backdrop shifting into stone walls with windows and a gallery. The rocks pulled back, replaced by tables, benches and chairs, statues and a stone archway. It looked very much like Acren Hall.

People flowed onto the stage to an overture of new music as the lights brightened again. They twirled and danced in mock activities. The clothes of most of them were simple, flowing tunics and skirts in pale colors. Others were guards in armor and one of them was Yana. A man with his costume trimmed in dark red posed in the center of the stage. Obi-Wan saw more song lyrics appearing on his Play roster.

******. . . **

**Head Servant: "We live our lives in shadow,**

**The Sith have given us grace,**

**We serve our lord and master,**

**Happy to stay in our place**

**All hail to the night**

**Her power is so bright."**

**. . . **

The other people paused in their twirling long enough to answer.

******. . . **

**"We all love the Sith!**

**We will always be**

**Grateful for her charity.**

**It's you we all are with,**

**For all eternity,**

**You're our only diety"**

**. . . **

They were apparently too busy to notice Nirid, Keth and Minigan darting part way across the back of the stage, taking refuge behind a large statue. The servants and guards went about their symbolic work-dance while individuals added their voices.

******. . . **

**Guard #1: "We did not always serve you,**

**When we lived in ignorance."**

**Servant #1 "At first we didn't want you,**

**And then you gave us a chance."**

**Guard #2 "When your power shone,**

**Brighter than any we'd known,"**

**. . . **

Yana was the last of the three, a big smile on her face. She had a loud, strong voice.

Meanwhile, at the back of the stage, Nirid, Keth and Minigan darted again, but this time a couple of guards finally interrupted their singing long enough to notice and make a grab for them. They struck with long staffs, hitting both Jedi and dragging Minigan back, grabbing arms and legs and both light sabers from his belt. At the front of the stage the song continued, unstoppable.

******. . . **

**"We all love the Sith,**

**And you love us, too.**

**You just took our souls with you.**

**It's you we all are with,**

**Finally we knew**

**The passion you brought was true**

**We worship the Dark. . . . ."**

**. . . **

Amazed, Obi-Wan listened to the enthusiastic tribute to the Dark Side while at the back of the stage, with Nirid's help, Keth staggered to safety, a hand held up to a red patch on his forehead; he tried to turn around, but she pulled him back behind another large statue. The guards who held Minigan turned their way but did not pursue as they escaped off the stage.

******. . . **

**Servant #2 "Loving you is free,**

**And it's compulsory."**

**Guard #3 "We worship the Sith,**

**Lost in ecstacy,**

**Blinded by your majesty."**

**Servant # 1 "Lord and only kith,**

**Such intensity!**

**Hail the Sith's supremacy!"**

**. . . **

The singers and dancers surged to the front of the stage, some of the armored guards holding up a bloodied Minigan by the arms, their staffs across his back and front.

******. . . **

**"We worship the Dark. . . .**

**We live for the Dark. . . .**

**We love the Sith Dark. . . ."**

**. . . **

The music ended and a guard, the one played by Yana, stepped forward and shouted the obvious.

"Intruder!"

* * *

**= = = End Part 28**

* * *

'When I Loved You' is roughly filked from 'Freeze Ray' from _Doctor Horrible's Sing-Slong-Blog_.

'A Sith's Gotta Do What a Sith's Gotta Do' is roughly filked from 'A Man's Gotta Do' from _Doctor Horrible's Sing-Slong-Blog_.

'We Love the Sith' is roughly filked from 'Under Your Spell' from Once More with Feeling - - _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_.


	29. Chapter 29

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 29**

* * *

Their song over, the guards and servants now loudly harrassed their new prisoner, who had recovered enough to stand on his own though his arms were still pinned. They accused him of sabotague, stealing and making their animals infertile. Minigan jauntily denied having ever had a relationship with any of their twugars.

A scream from off stage startled them. More guards entered, carrying on their shoulders a flat with Hulus's body on it. They laid it on a table that they pushed to the center of the stage where people had only moments ago been dancing. After getting over the shock, the guards dragged their captured Jedi forward to view the damage and demanded that he confess to the crime. Minigan told them that he wasn't sure if this one was his, but he had a way to tell for sure. The guards and servants all fell silent, suddenly entranced by his words.

"If you can just give me that lightsaber, I can check it against the wound on this poor fellow and we can find out if I'm the one who did it." That got a laugh. The audience clearly liked Minigan.

The guard holding the lightsaber looked up, slack-faced and started toward the prisoner with it.

Obi-Wan hunched his shoulders. Influencing the mind of one person or even a few was simple enough for a Knight, but a whole room full of people would take exceptional focus.

Another guard shouted, knocked the saber aside, and cuffed Minigan. The stage crowd shouted accusations and dragged him off, calling for justice from their Lord.

The lights dimmed, the backdrop turning dark. The furnishings floated back, but Hulus's body remained, a light shining down on it.

A figure emerged from the darkness at the back of the stage, the lights slowly going up and the audience murmured as they recognized the black, white and red mask of Darth Yarr.

The costume, with heavy boots and filled out in the shoulders and arms gave her an imposing body shape. Adie Tykon-Tuzie's motions and hand gestures were uttery different from her appearance before as Nirid. Obi-Wan did not think it likely that anyone would guess that the same performer played both parts.

The orchestra started a slow somber tune as Yarr touched Hulus's face.

******. . . **

**"You weren't ready to fight two Jedi**

**I know you loved me, but you had to die.**

**You were not worthy because now here you lie**

**But I . . . . "**

**. . . **

Yarr stepped away from the body, eyes pointed upward toward the Jedi in the audience. Obi-Wan glanced toward Qui-Gon, who remained motionless.

******. . . **

**"I've found another to take your place,**

**Since you died so easy in such disgrace,**

**And he's already felt the heat of my embrace,**

**And I . . . . "**

**. . . **

Crossing the stage, Yarr spread her arms out as if to embrace the glory she envisioned, face turned upward.

******. . . **

**"I will make him my apprentice,**

**A Dark Lord I'll adore.**

**I will enflame his passions,**

**Just as I have before.**

**We will rule this world,**

**And live forevermore,**

**With the Dark binding our love."**

**. . . **

The song turned into a musical interlude as a troop of guards entered, dragging Minigan among them. The Sith and Jedi figures appeared on their floaters, the Jedi with hands bound, the Sith entreating as if pulling him in. Masked and fully covered, they were just as likely to be male or female.

Arms held behind his back Minigan stiffened and tried to pull away as Yarr freely ran her hands over his body.

******. . . **

**"You swore to destroy me, but you didn't know**

**The power, the darkness are not your foe.**

**It is the Jedi ways that you need to let go.**

**And I . . . .**

******. . . **

**"I will love you and teach you,**

**The love the Sith can bring.**

**The all consuming passion,**

**Better than anything,**

**The ecstacy. . . . "**

**. . . **

Grimacing, Minigan turned his head away as Yarr pressed herself next to him, one hand fondling his crotch. The Jedi figure went to his knees as the Sith figure caressed the air with long sinuous arms.

******. . . **

**"Will make your sore heart sing,**

**When you surrender to the Dark,**

**When you surrender to the Dark."**

**. . . **

The music died down, the figures above withdrew. Yarr, roughly grasping Minigan's lower regions, led her prisoner and the guards holding him off the dark stage. The music diminished to the last few high notes.

Hulus's body, still center stage on its table suddenly burst into flame. It was holo-flame, but satisfactorily bright and brought a gasp from the audience. The flames faded down, the stage going dark again, the table and remains pulling back off the stage as a light slowly came up on the right side on a cell with a bare rock wall, a narrow cot. Nirid sat forward on a small wooden stool, next to Keth, loosely covered with a ragged blanket, the bandages on his head blotched red.

He stirred. She gave him water. When he demanded to know what happened to Minigan, she reluctantly told him that his fellow Jedi was held prisoner in the deepest dungeon of the Castle that could not be reached. Keth struggled to sit up. She begged him to rest, that the danger was too great. But she gave in and helped him sit up. A single floating platform with two figures in neutral grays and tans drifted above. They roughly mirrored the motions of the primary performers.

Keth took Nirid's hands.

******. . . **

**"Will you help me rescue him?**

**The Sith will surely hurt him,**

**I'll do all the saber work,**

**Before all hope can grow dim.**

**You stay safe . . . .I could not bear to see you hurt."**

**. . . **

She wiped her eyes and agreed to help him. But she begged him to hide and rest until she could learn more about how the might free Minigan. He thanked her and promised her he would, but begged her to be quick. Still clasping his hands, she leaned over and kissed him as the lights went down again on that end of the stage, simultaneously coming up on the opposite side. Stripped of belt and tabbards, his outer tunic ripped in places, Minigan was chained to an enormous black frame, his arms spread wide over his head.

Leaning forward, Obi-Wan immediately focused on ways that he might escape. The bindings on his wrists and ankles glowed, so that likely meant that the locks on them also interfered with the tactile senses. No mere mechanism could ever keep out the Force, but scrambling the perceptions of the Jedi would cut off access to it. Even thousands of years ago, a Sith would know about the energy bindings needed to incapacitate either Jedi or Sith.

More battered and bruised, his pants ripped as well, Minigan made a minor show of testing his bonds to a slowly rising accompaniment from the archestra. Some of his smaller movements and dramatic expressions got some chuckles from the audience at first; they definitely liked him. But his testings and the music became more and more earnest. A dark figure crossed behind the frame holding him. Above the stage, two figures on shadowed platforms drifted forward on either side of the black frame.

The lights suddenly came up on the symbolic Sith and Jedi figures above and on Yarr as she tore her hood off, revealing her mask and throwing the black robe off behind her. Minigan froze, his expression fearful for the first time.

******. . . **

**"You won't get away,**

**From within my lair.**

**Why don't you stay and play?**

**And maybe take up my dare?**

**I have mastered the Force's Dark Side,**

**If you're good I could get you in on the inside**

**So, what d'you say?**

**Ask for it and I'll share."**

**. . . **

Yarr moved in, freely running her hands over his body. Minigan gasped, eyes wide. The figures above, though on separate platforms, mimed the action below much more explicitly.

******. . . **

**"It's the hottest thing**

**Lust and passion shout,**

**When you gotta sing,**

**When you gotta**

**Let it out.**

******. . . **

**"I can tell that you do enjoy it,**

**I'll bring the power on**

**I bring the dark in.**

**Now we're partyin',**

**That's what it's all about."**

**. . . **

Yarr slid her gloved hands through the holes in his pants and pushed her body up and down against him. Breathing hard, Minigan's head fell back and Yarr continued singing.

******. . . **

**"'Cause, I know what you feeee-eeeel.**

**I know just what you feeee-eeeel."**

**. . . **

Minigan's head snapped up. The figures above froze.

******. . . **

**"No you don't. You've got the wrong Knight."**

**. . . **

Yarr caressed his face then seized his throat, leapt back and then pulled her hand back slowly. Still choking, he gasped for breath.

******. . . **

**"Try to hold it back, hold it in too long.**

**Then, that energy starts to come on,**

**Nice and strong."**

**. . . **

She released her Force grip and then moved in again. Minigan's resolve faultered and the figures above resumed their distant but surprisingly intimate and graphic dance.

******. . . **

**"Let the Dark in, you know you want to,**

**Let loose your passion and taste the taboo.**

**What do Jedi know? They haven't got a clue.**

******. . . **

**"I can sense your fear, that I turn you here.**

**You'll be all you can be,**

**The Jedi don't know where passion can go,**

**But I can make you see.**

******. . . **

**"'Cause I know what you feeeee-eeel."**

**. . . **

Above, the figures slid out of their clothes and their bodies were completely androgenous, all features smoothed down to medium brown lumps and curves. Minigan resisted Yarr, but bound to the frame he could not avoid her and he was failing.

******. . . **

**Minigan: "She's does not know me,**

**I am only her play-thing."**

**Darth Yarr: "I'll make it reeee-eeal!"**

**Minigan: "But the pain is so real,**

**And my lust, it is rising."**

**Darth Yarr: "I'll bring you to the edge of ruin,**

**You'll be mine when you let the Dark Side in."**

**Minigan: "Yes, my hate, it is great,**

**Have a care what you wish for!"**

**. . . **

Minigan snapped at his tormenter, but she just grabbed and squeezed his flesh with more enthusiasm. Hands on his shoulders and fully clothed and armored, Yarr mounted him, legs wrapped around his hips. Above, the figures on either end of the scene moved together back and forth in a highly stylized dance of their own.

******. . . **

**Darth Yarr: "Oh, don't tell me, that you don't love this,**

**You're just dying for my lips and my kiss."**

**Minigan: "Yes, I'm hot, but I'm not,**

**Going to beg for your favor."**

**. . . **

The music crested and everyone froze for a moment. The Jedi and Sith figures went limp and Yarr climbed off of Minigan.

******. . . **

**"Now you're partying,**

**That's what the Dark is for."**

**. . . **

The lights went down, the music strumming to an end. A few seconds later the audience erupted in loud applause and cheers. The normal room lights came on. Surprised, Obi-Wan looked down at his Play roster; it flashed that the intermission had started with a countdown clock for when the Play would resume.

Judging by the length of time that the applause and cheering lasted, the audience was well pleased with the Play so far. Floating platforms had already arrived at the Chancellor's and Custodian Tykon's viewing platforms. Obi-Wan stood.

"Master?" he asked. Qui-Gon had not moved when their floater platform arrived. Standing at the edge, Obi-Wan looked from Master to platform and back. Suddenly, the older man exhaled and stood and they both stepped onto the platform. It whisked them back to the gallery. One of Custodian Tykon's senior assistants, Temba, waited and escorted them to the end of the gallery and around a corner, away from the other honored guests.

* * *

**%% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %%**

* * *

"Well, I wasn't expecting them to use so much of what Sebo told them." Custodian Tykon blushed over her plate of refreshments with her senior assistants; they all laughed. They generally agreed that the Play was going extremely well and that it would be quite popular. Qui-Gon did not join them. The room was small, but not crowded for their small, elite group and everyone took turns with the two freshers.

Holding his own plate, Obi-Wan stood next to him. At first, he had been uncertain about where to stand, but after he helped himself to some of the food and tea, he took his place with his Master, two anti-social Jedi in robes, hoods up.

Qui-Gon was not sure what he would tell Obi-Wan, even if they could speak in private. Despite Custodian Tykon's blushing, the erotic scenes were highly stylized, though violent in intent. The most worrisome scenes were the ones that blatantly glorified the Sith in song and dance. Qui-Gon was quite certain that it would never be shown to any younger Padawans in the Temple and he was not sure that, at xixteen standard years of age, Obi-Wan was really old enough to watch it, either. His eyes flicked toward his apprentice who shoved a crunchy snack in his mouth. Qui-Gon sighed; Obi-Wan already knew the Mystery and was reasonably mature.

Qui-Gon was not entirely sure if he was ready to see the rest of it. With no explanation for why he had attacked Sebo, he had feared that whatever dark influence that triggered that episode would return. It wasn't the holocron or any of the Sith artifacts. They were cold and dead. He was sure of that. It couldn't be Sebo, she had no extraordinary connection to the Force. It was possible that it was the site of the Castle itself, but if so, its influence was too subtle for him to discern.

The lights in the room blinked, the first warning that the Play would resume soon. Obi-Wan ate his food faster.

Qui-Gon wondered if he should simply refuse to go back. They could not force him, though his absence would be noted and possibly cause some diplomatic upset. But could he risk another episode when red clouded his vision and he wanted to grasp the Force and feel it course through his whole body and - - ?

"Master Qui-Gon, it's time to return."

He turned, looking down at Custodian Tykon; the white-haired older woman held up a hand, but refrained from touching him. He dreaded going back, sitting through erotic Sith scenes, singers and dancers praising the power of the Dark Side.

He drew in a sharp breath and stared over Tykon's head.

Of course. That was his mistake.

He was afraid.

Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting go of the fear with it. Fear was the path to the Dark Side.

"Master Qui-Gon, are you well? You're not ill again, are you? Should I call the Healers?"

A moment ago, he would have welcomed the excuse to leave. But now he did not need it. He might or might not feel the touch of the Dark Side again, but he would not fear it. If it came, he would push it away like he had before, or the blue cold would take it. Whatever was to happen, would happen.

He shook his head and smiled. "No, I am fine." Next to him, his Padawan looked up with concern. He laid a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "I am fine."

* * *

**= = = End Part 29**

* * *

'Surrender to the Sith' is roughly filked from 'Standing in the Way' from Once More with Feeling - - _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_.

'Will You Help' is roughly filked from 'Caring Hands' from _Doctor Horrible's Sing-Slong-Blog_.

'Torture Song' is roughly filked from 'Sweet's Song' from Once More with Feeling - - _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_.


	30. Chapter 30

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 30**

* * *

They returned to their seats in plenty of time. Below, the audience members were still reassembling back into their seats, their low, many-voiced noise filling Tamwa Hall.

"Master, are you well?" Obi-Wan asked when they were seated. "You seemed disturbed after you spoke with Sebo backstage."

Qui-Gon sighed, taking a few seconds to reply. "I was . . . I am disturbed by a Play that celebrates the powers of the Dark Side. And I made the mistake of fearing what would come from it. Never fear the Dark Side, Obi-Wan. That only makes it stronger."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan nodded, noticing that he had not said anything about what Sebo said to him backstage. "Is there more that you're not telling me?"

Settling back in his seat, Qui-Gon looked toward the stage, his expression, under the shadow of his hood, almost serene. "Yes."

Obi-Wan waited for more."

"Is it something you can discuss?"

"No."

Obi-Wan sat back in his own seat. He accepted that there were things that Jedi Masters did not discuss with Padawans. But he did not have to like it.

The lights blinked again. Looking down at the Play roster resting on the wide arm rest of his chair, he picked it up. It blinked a final warning that the intermission was almost over. A minute later the lights went down and the flashing colored lights came on, the orchestra playing a short overture, a medly of tunes from the Play, perhaps meant to allow the last few stragglers to take their seats.

The lights came up on one side of the stage, the little cell, Keth lying on the small cot, the white bandage and reddish blond hair on the flat pillow. He stirred, turned over and sat up . . . revealing another person next to him. Nirid, still asleep.

The music started again with a gentle tune and one floating platform returned with its two tan-gray figures, sitting close, facing each other, hands clasped. Keth pushed himself up and began to sing.

******. . . **

**"Here's a story of a boy**

**Who knew that he was special,**

**Did not notice there was more**

**Than my duty to the Jedi's call."**

**. . . **

He touched her face. Her eyes remained closed, but she smiled. Somehow his touch, nor the singing, nor the music, woke her.

******. . . **

**"Now that I have found you**

**I can see that there is more,**

**Like those special moments,**

**Things that are missing,**

**Like your kissing me before."**

**. . . **

The figures above kissed, and when they touched, it was with affection, not lust, though it was no less erotic than the last song. Keth leaned down, touching her lovingly and she finally woke, sitting up partially, eyes fixed on her lover as he caressed her face.

******. . . **

**"Though I am a Jedi**

**I know of tender loving,**

**And sharing dreams, you and me**

**Of having you in my arms is all,**

******. . . **

**"That I ever want from you.**

**Your love is all I need.**

**No power is so great,**

**No Force above you,**

**And I'll love you all the more.**

******. . . **

**"So, come to me, my lovely Nirid."**

**. . . **

They kissed and embraced and sank back down onto the cot together, their motions mirrored above by the two masked, androgynous figures. The lights went down on their end of the stage, the floater above retreating. They came up on the other side. Minigan, still bound to the black frame, more blused and haggard, the middle of his tuni torn, revealing red stripes, whip-marks on his exposed skin. He still had his boots, but his pants were ripped as well, scarred and bruised skin underneath.

He lifted his head; his eyes were wild. All the good humor had left him. The music rose ominously.

******. . . **

**"Any dolt with half a brain**

**Can see the galaxy is just insane,**

**And the Force is just a lie.**

**Indifference would make you cry,**

**And all loyalty morphs into your bane.**

**Listen close to everybody's heart**

**And feel that treachery.**

**Hopes and peace are shattering apart**

**With crumbling certainty."**

**. . . **

The lights came up on the right side of the stage. Nirid sat up over a sleeping Keth while Minigan finished his verse.

******. . . **

**"I cannot remain Jedi!**

**With my world filled with dark and lies,**

**And it's plain to see**

**Evil inside of me is on the rise."**

**. . . **

The Sith and Jedi figures appeared above, the Sith dancing with angry sharp motions, the Jedi with smooth harmonious ones. Nirid joined the song.

******. . . **

**"Look at him,**

**I never thought I would begin,**

**Question the things that I believe,**

**That tender love was just naïve,**

**A greater love I should achieve,**

**And I believe**

**There's love in everybody's heart,**

**More than lust and greed,**

**I know there's more to my part.**

**I've found a higher need."**

******. . . **

**"Can I now dare to love Jedi?**

**Is the galaxy growing wise?**

'**Cause it seems to me**

**Some kind of harmony**

**Is on the rise."**

**. . . **

They sang together in harmony, different words on the same melody and Obi-Wan had to consult the Play roster to catch it all.

******. . . **

**Minigin: "Any dolt with half a brain,"**

**_ Nirid: "I don't know,"**

******. . . **

**Minigin: "Can see the galaxy is just insane,"**

**_ Nirid: "If this new love will show,"**

******. . . **

**Minigin: "'Cause the dark is everywhere."**

**_ Nirid: "And I wonder where this could go."**

******. . . **

**Minigin: "Keth abandons me without a care,"**

**_ Nirid: "But suddenly I feel this glow,"**

******. . . **

**Minigin: "So soon the dark in me is all that will remain,"**

**_ Nirid: "And I believe,"**

******. . . **

**Minigin: "Listen close to everybody's heart,"**

**_ Nirid: "There's love in everybody's heart,"**

******. . . **

**Minigin: "And feel that treachery,"**

**_ Nirid: "More than lust and greed."**

******. . . **

**Minigin: "Hopes and peace are shattering apart,"**

**_ Nirid: "I know there's more to my part,"**

******. . . **

**Minigin: "With crumbling certainty."**

**_ Nirid: "I've found a higher need."**

**. . . **

They both straightened as if finding their resolve.

******. . . **

**Minigin: I cannot remain Jedi!**

**_ Nirid: Can a Sith dare to love Jedi?**

******. . . **

**Minigin: With my world filled with dark and lies,"**

**_ Nirid: Is the galaxy growing wise?"**

******. . . **

**Minigin: And it's plain to see,"**

**_ Nirid: 'Cause it seems to me,"**

******. . . **

**Minigin: Evil inside of me is on the rise."**

**_ Nirid: Some kind of harmony is on the rise."**

**. . . **

The lights faded and the figures receded. The applause from the audience was loud and appreciative and the lights did not come back up until it had died down. Only the left side of the stage was lit, Minigan apparently limp, hanging from the frame.

Guards came in carrying buckets and equipment. One of them was Timoz Wemi. Some went to the back of the stage and made water noises while the others took up defensive positions around Minigan, keeping well out of arm's reach. A guard came forward with a hose.

"B-b-b-llll-uu-uuuugh!" Minigan revived quickly to the stream of water. He shook his head, splattering water everywhere, his graying brown hair dark and flat against his head.

"Oh, that's so refreshing!" he called out with his old good humor. Two guards with white cloths fixed to the ends of poles started scrubbing him. Minigan went to his toes shouting that he was ticklish especially when one went between his legs. His squeals and giggles calmed and he flexed his muscles when they finished.

"Ooooh, I might be mistaken, but are you all keeping your distance for a reason?" He conspicuously sniffed toward one of his armpits. The crowd laughed. "Is it meeeee?" The guards ignored him. One of them, he had a yellow insignia on his shoulders that the others did not, took out a box containing a shiny black mound.

"Lord Yarr wishes you to be made more presentable," he called out, standing well back from the frame. With the toe of his boot, he tipped over the box, its contents falling over. It appeared to be clothes; there was a pair of black boots. "You are to be her next . . . distraction." He spat in Minigan's direction.

"Oh, I'm not very good at distractions. Couldn't we just start with lunch?"

"Silence, Jedi scum!" The guard slowly approached. "You will be dressed. And plumped. For our Master. And when she is done with you, when she has crushed and squeezed and stripped every morsel of pleasure from you, you will beg for more. Before she ends it. And your bleeding remains will be thrown out to the caraks." He leaned close, jabbing a black club under Minigan's chin. "Because _that_ is all you are good for."

The prisoner grinned.

"Ooooh, but I am good for so much more than that. Can't you see it in my eyes?" Minigan's expression turned feral. The guard froze, drawing out the silence between them. Weapons ready, the other guards alerted, but hesitated.

"Tell them to lower their weapons," Minigan locked his eyes on the now blankly-staring guard commander.

"Lower your weapons."

"Louder!"

"Lower your weapons, now!"

The guards obeyed and Minigan stared each of them down. "Now, you can see that I am good for so much more." They dropped their blasters.

"Release me!" The guards complied. Then Minigan ordered the others to chain up their leader to the frame. After they did that, Minigan jabbed the lead guard with the his own club under his chin, forcing his head back.

"You," Minigan told him, "Might be good for something." Snatching up the man's blaster, he whirled around and shot the other guards. They were blank blaster shots; no one died on the stage, but the performers made it look dramatic, throwing their arms out as they fell and twitched. Minigan strode to center stage as the orchestra started an ominous tune.

******. . . **

**"I was lost in a moral dilemma 'cause at first**

**I saw you through my vows to the Jedi Code and I**

**killed Hulus, your apprentice, and then you, it's true**

**You're a Sith, you're evil - so how can it be that you**

**Have shown me the Dark?**

******. . . **

**"I've a brand new way**

**Now I know the why**

**Now I have the power**

**I am no Jedi**

**I did not understand**

**Now I see the Dark,**

**It's the Sith Lord's way."**

**. . . **

He kicked one of the bodies aside as he strode back and forth, declaring his new purpose.

**. . . **

**"All those times that I sacrificed myself were a waste**

**And fighting for the weak - listen, honestly I've spaced**

**There's no good, there's no right, I know that justice is through**

**Now the future's is mine and I owe it all to you,**

**Who showed me the dark.**

******. . . **

**"I've a brand new way**

**This is my new face**

**Now the Dark Side's rising**

**And I know my place**

**I'm gonna kill Darth Yarr**

**Gonna take her place**

**It's the Sith Lord's way."**

**. . . **

He shook his fist, arm raised high, then saw the box of spilled clothes; he knelt, grasping the black fabric, holding it up like a prize.

******. . . **

**"And when I show Keth the evil me**

**He will kneel, he will plead, he will beg me**

**To leave the Dark but I have touched the spark**

**Of the power that comes from lust and pain so naturally."**

**. . . **

Minigan leapt to his feet again, his eyes gleaming.

******. . . **

**"I've a brand new way**

**Now I know the why**

**Now I have the power**

**I am no Jedi.**

**Though the Force is strong**

**Now I see the light,**

**And it's Dark as night . . . .**

**It's the Sith Lord's way."**

**. . . **

The lights went down as Minigan crouched again tearing the clothes out of the box.

* * *

**= = = End Part 30**

* * *

'Keth's Love' is roughly filked from 'Penny's Song' from _Doctor Horrible's Sing-Slong-Blog_

'On the Rise' is roughly filked from 'My Eyes' from _Doctor Horrible's Sing-Slong-Blog_

'Sith Lord's Way' is roughly filked from 'Brand New Day' from _Doctor Horrible's Sing-Slong-Blog_.


	31. Chapter 31

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 31**

* * *

The orchestra finished off Minigan's Sith Lord song and switched to a new tune as the stage changed, the large frame sliding away; the archway, windows, statues, tables and chairs from the earlier setting returned. The servants and guards danced with perky steps, long strides and twirls. And sneaking in plain sight, Nirid led Keth across the back of the stage. More song lyrics scrolled across Obi-Wan's play roster.

**. . .**

**Keth: "So they say the Sith Lord is this world's true savior."**

**Nirid: "I suppose so."**

**Keth: "So they say that she brings love."**

******. . .**

The dancing guards and Castle servants joined in, though they apparently didn't know the Jedi and his guide were there.

**. . .**

**Lead Servant: "It's SO romantic."**

**Servant #1: "We love her."**

**Nirid: "So they say that all power is love.**

**We're strong and we fear nothing,**

**Thanks to her."**

**Keth: "Thanks to her."**

******. . .**

Keth smiled warmly at Nirid as the guards and servants took over the song.

**. . .**

**Guard #1: "It's the Sith Lord's power."**

**Guard #2: "So they say."**

**Guard #1: "Darth Yarr is leading the way."**

**Guard #1 and #2: She's so great we cower."**

**Guard #2: "Death to all of those."**

**Guard #1: "Who don't obey!"**

**Servant #2: "So they say she saved us all."**

**Guard #3: "They say she tortures her lovers,**

**To make them love her more."**

**Lead Servant, Servants 1 and 2: "We wish she'd do that to us."**

**Servant 2: "She is our Lord."**

******. . .**

The two fugitives took refuge behind a statue, evading the dancing and serenading..

**. . .**

**Keth: "My love is true,**

**Even though I know what they do.**

**Jedi say Sith are are evil Lords,**

**But I know there is love in your heart."**

**Lead Servants, Servants 1 and 2: "Our love is true, too."**

**Nirid "Oh, you know me too well**

**And you say,**

**That you love me today**

**After years of Sith rule**

**Finally have you come to lead the way?"**

******. . .**

Wearing a black outfit, with tall boots and broad shoulders and Hulus's lightsaber on his belt, Minigan appeared on the left, carrying the blaster. Overhead, the Sith and Jedi figures floated forward, both with hands out as if questing for something.

**. . .**

**Nirid and Minigan "There's no happy ending**

**So they say."**

**Minigan "Not for me anyway."**

**Nirid "Should I stop pretending?"**

**Minigan "Stop pretending."**

**Nirid "Or do I see a new way?"**

**Minigan: "Kill both Keth and Yarr, treachery to repay!"**

**Servant 2: "We all love the Sith."**

**Lead Servants, Servants 1 and 2: "We love the Dark."**

******. . .**

Minigan shot in the air, effectively ending the floor show. People scattered, the guards drew their weapons, but their blasters wavered, lowering. Keth, still behind the statue, stared in shock while behind him, Nirid ducked away off stage, unnoticed.

Keth's expression saddened as Minigan strode before the guards, influencing them to obey him. Most of the servants had fled and the few that remained cowered before this new menace. Finally Minigan seized a servant and throwing him to the floor told him to run and get his Master. He fired a few shots at his retreating feet to make him move faster.

After he was gone, one man stood and defied Minigan. He praised Yarr for being a good and loving Master, better than any common, coarse Sith. Minigan let him rant on a bit. Then he shot him. The man died dramatically. Still hidden, Keth looked stricken.

"So!" a voice called from off stage. It was Yarr. She appeared and strode forward. "You are ready for me." She positioned herself at center stage next to him, her hands on her hips. "I approve."

"Do you like it?" Minigan primped and posed while the orchestra started up.

**. . .**

**"You taught me everything**

**So now your reign is through**

**Ha. And just one more thing,**

**This will be the end of you.**

**Now your reign will be incompleted**

**This is the end . . . .**

**you'll be defeated**

**'Cause I'm the new Sith Lord,**

**I will be Darth Kahmtu!"**

******. . .**

Minigan whipped out Hulus's red light saber blade snd struck. But Yarr blocked it with her own and then struck back.

The performers were quick, skilled and precise in their steps, but it was a terrible fight, full of arm waving and jumping with both combatants missing obvious opportunities to disarm the other. But it was reasonably good dancing; he recognized many of the moves from the autitions with lots of energy and speed, kicks and high jumps. And Obi-Wan realized that this was only the second fight he had seen in the whole Play even though most of the time that he and his Master had spent with the performers had been showing them fighting techniques.

Finally Minigan made a mistake, though it looked more like Yarr finally took advantage of one of the many openings in her opponent's guard. Her blade grazed Minigan's arm and he cried out, grabbing the 'wounded' arm and dropping his blade. It didn't go out but Minigan managed to 'conveniently' throw his black cloak on top of it as he tried to scramble away. Yarr raised her blade over him.

Keth suddenly ran forward.

"NIRID!"

A drum rumbled from the orchestra purred as everyone on stage froze and there was complete silence from the audience below. The floating platfroms appeared, but they were empty and they slowly moved outward from both ends of the stage.

"Nirid," Keth implored, arms wide. "I know it's you."

Yarr slowly turned her head to him. "How?" she breathed, the Yarr-voice now more like Nirid.

One of the empty platforms was clearly going to pass very close to their seats. Looking to his side, Obi-Wan saw the other passing close to the Castle Custodians' seats. There was a figure in black and red among them.

"From our first embrace here, Nirid. From our first kiss. How could I not know?" Keth's voice broke as he took a step toward her. "How could I not feel the pain I caused you when I left so long ago, and that you pass on to others now?" He took another step, tears running down his face. "But now I know I was wrong to hurt you so. No Force, no power is more dear to me than our love." He went to his knees.

"Nirid, stop all this," he begged, his voice breaking again. "Leave the Dark Side." His voice grew strong again. "I renounce myself as Jedi, the Force and all its powers here before you. And whatever you say now, I will wait for you. It will be as nothing compared to the terrible wait I forced on you when we were young. Please forgive me." He wept openly.

The floating platform very gently touched the edge of their viewing platform. Opposite them, the figure in the black and red Yarr costume mounted the other platform. Qui-Gon remained seated, his face rigid. The platforms moved away, back toward the stage, one with the Yarr standing at attention, the other empty.

Slowly, the Yarr on stage lowered her lightsaber. But behind her, Mingan scuttled back.

The platforms approached the far ends of the stage and the Yarr on one of them activated her lightsaber and struck a pose. Obi-Wan sat forward and stared. This bright red lightsaber blade was real.

Obi-Wan's shock increased as a flow of power from the Force rushed up through him from below. Qui-Gon jumped up and leapt high, the Force carrying him over the audience; he flipped over once before landing opposite the Yarr as the two platforms stopped above the back of the stage. His robe flew off, green lightsaber flashing on as the platform tilted with the impact before righting itself.

Obi-Wan jumped to his feet and two thousand voices below him gasped.

At the front of the stage, Minigan whipped out his fake lightsaber, ready to strike Yarr from behind. The platforms circled; Jedi and fake Sith with two very real lightsabers remained locked in their poses. Qui-Gon's wild expression of shock mirrored Obi-Wan's feeling. He flexed his right hand, but . . . it did not feel right for him to take up his own lightsaber.

"NIRID!" Keth seized Yarr, thrusting her aside, away from the danger. Minigan's blade hit him in the side. From the audience point of view, Keth looked impaled. Horrified, Minigan jumped back, pulling the blade back and away.

"KETH!" Yarr tore off her mask, revealing Nirid's face, her graying hair tightly bound on her head. She caught him as he fell.

"Why didn't you stop him, Keth, _why_? You could have stopped him!"

Keth smiled, his expression serene. "I renounced my power for you, Nirid. I couldn't go back on that, but I had to stop him." He reached up to touch her. "I'll wait for you, no matter what."

Tears running down her face, Nirid touched his cheek. "No more waiting, Keth. No more waiting. I'm here. It's just me. I'm here for you." They kissed, with Nirid cradling him in her arms.

Behind them, the platforms stopped circling less than an arms's length from each other. The Yarr raised her saber in a salute, extinguished it and tore off her mask. It was Sebo.

Keth went limp and Nirid broke the kiss and wept loudly. As she turned toward Minigan, Sebo went to her knees and spread her arms, throwing her head back.

"Take me!" Nirid screamed up at Minigan. "Take me now! It's all yours! The Castle, the planet, the power! They are _nothing_ to me now! I renounce it all!" Weeping, she clutched Keth's body to her, waiting for the fatal blow.

"No." Minigan backed up in horror. "NO! NOOOOO-oooooo-ooooohhhhh!" Retracting his blade he threw it away and then went to the fallen Jedi.

Behind them, Qui-Gon's blade went out. He went to his knees as if in shock, staring at Sebo. The music started again. The lights brightened on Nirid, the rest of the stage going into shadow. Nirid began to sing.

**. . .**

**"I touch the Dark Side and it's strange to me.**

**I look into it and it's cold.**

**Where is my heart?**

**My life has come apart.**

**Instantly gray and old.**

**Now I'm left with these memories**

**To curse me with the love I lost.**

**I am bereft.**

**They're all that I have left,**

**Bought at the highest cost."**

******. . .**

She gently lowered Keth's body to the ground and climbed to her feet.

**. . .**

**"So I will walk without the Force.**

**Neither Sith Lord nor Jedi.**

**I will walk without the Force!**

**Until I die!"**

******. . .**

Stepping into the light, Minigan bent over Keth, stroking his hair.

**. . .**

**"I killed my friend and that tortures me.**

**I have fallen hard and far.**

**I feel the Force,**

**It fills me with remorse**

**That I ever wanted Yarr."**

******. . .**

He looked up at Nirid,

**. . .**

**"So she will walk without the Force."**

******. . .**

They sang together.

**. . .**

**Minigan: "Until the day she dies."**

**Nirid: "Neither Sith Lord nor Jedi."**

**Minigan: "And she will live without the Force!"**

**Nirid: "And I will live without the Force!"**

******. . .**

Nirid beat her breast and shook her fists as she sang.

**. . .**

**"I don't know why I tried to win and turn him.**

**Now my love and life have gone dim.**

**I'll be grieving 'til the end of days."**

******. . .**

Still touching Keth's face Minigan sang.

**. . .**

**"What have I done? Why did I do it?**

**The Jedi Code, I betrayed it.**

**I should know that evil never pays."**

******. . .**

He stood, joining Nirid at center stage, Keth's body lying behind them.

**. . .**

**Minigan and Nirid: "I look at you**

**And now I know what I should do."**

**Nirid "I will walk without the Force!"**

**Minigin "I will return to the Force!"**

******. . .**

Minigan stepped away from Nirid as he extended his arm to her, and the lights from above followed him.

**. . .**

**"I will return to the Jedi,**

**Tell them that they both were killed.**

**Keth's death was true**

**A hero who loved you.**

**His light forever stilled."**

******. . .**

Behind them all the servants and guards had reassembled behind the two in the center and again, Obi-Wan had to read the Play roster to sort out what they were all singing at once.

**. . .**

**Lead Servant: The Dark Lord has renounced her power.**

**Guard #1: Mouring for her Jedi lover.**

**Guard #2: Turning from the Force, both light and dark.**

**Nirid: Left with love and sorrow.**

**Servant #1: The only Jedi survivor.**

**Servant #2: Now he regrets his lust for power.**

**Guard #3: Never will he tell the Jedi heirarch.**

**Nirid: My tragedy is the love that now haunts me.**

**Minigan: If I told them, they would come for yoooo-oooou!**

**Minigin and Nirid: "And we were caught by the Force!"**

**Servants and guards: "They are caught by the Force!"**

**Minigin and Nirid: "Because we've lost it all!"**

**Servants and guards: "Because they've lost it all!"**

**Minigin and Nirid: "We gave our lives to the Force!"**

**Servants and guards: "They gave lives to the Force!"**

**Minigin and Nirid: "We heard its call!"**

**Servants and guards: "We heard its call!"**

**Minigin and Nirid: "Far was our fall!"**

**Servants and guards: "Far was their fall!"**

**Minigin and Nirid: "And lost it all! Lost it all!"**

**Others: "And lost it all! Lost it all!"**

******. . .**

Their voices rose high on the last note and as soon as the orchestra finished the audience clapped and shouted its appreciation. Going to back to his seat, Obi-Wan skipped past the new song lyrics that had appeared and went to the credits. The names of the performers now appeared next to the character names, including Adie Tykon-Tuzie for both Yarr an Nirid. He scrolled down past the minor part credits and found at the bottom of the list of shadow dancers:

_Venerate Lady of the Tower, Sebo_

_Venerate Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn._

* * *

**= = = End Part 31**

* * *

'A New Way' is roughly filked from 'So They Say' from _Doctor Horrible's Sing-Slong-Blog_.

'Minigan's Victory' is roughly filked from 'Sweet's Refrain' from Once More with Feeling - - _Buffy the Vampire Slayer._

'Walk Without the Force' is roughly filked from 'Walk Through the Fire' from Once More with Feeling - - _Buffy the Vampire Slayer._


	32. Chapter 32

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 32**

* * *

Looking up, Obi-Wan saw his Master and Sebo still in the same places, on their knees, facing each other. Sebo's expression was ecstatic, tears streaming down her cheeks, but Qui-Gon faced partially away, his expression not visible to him.

The lights faded down on stage, leaving everything in dim twilight except for one bright light on Nirid, her head bowed.

Above the stage the enormous transparent holo-face of Sebo appeared:

"I am the Lady of the Tower, whose name was so dangerous it was taken from me."

Another platform appeared, crossing high over Sebo and Qui-Gons' platform. It carried a woman in simple clothes, the same pale yellow tunics that Sebo wore. She just stood there, her eyes closed while the platform crossed to the other side as the narration continued.

"I left the peak of power on this world after I re-discovered the love that was greater than anything else in my life. And then lost it."

Another high platform appeared crossing on as the first crossed off. This one carried another woman, also dressed like Sebo, but her belly was large and round.

"Keth's body was burned and the ashes scattered over these lands. Minigan returned to the Jedi and told them I was slain, which was true in a way. Darth Yarr was no more. I was only Nirid again. And I bore Keth's child.

The pregnant Nirid passed off stage as another one above passed on. Obi-Wan gasped in shock. There were four figures. Nirid and three others who accepted the baby she gave them. It was the same as his vision.

"And my daughter grew, raised by those who imprisoned me. They loved her as much as they had thought they once loved me. And after I died she became Cloras the First, who reunited this world after the chaos I had left behind." The head lowered its eyes.

The platform with Nirid and the three women passed off to the side.

At the front of the stage, Nirid looked up and the orchestra music changed.

**. . .**

**"Here lies everything.**

**I am imprisoned in defeat.**

**My life is incomplete.**

**He was my everything.**

**Everything I ever. . .**

******. . .**

**I have nothing.**

**"But I must go on.**

**There is a life within me now,**

**Keth left me with somehow.**

**I am the Force's pawn**

**Everything I ever. . . .**

**I must live on."**

******. . .**

The light faded and she fell into shadow, a lone dark outline on a stage of dark outlines behind her, including Qui-Gon and Sebo, still on their platforms. The last notes died away from the orchestra.

The giant holo-face looked up again.

"I am the Lady of the Tower. And I renounced my power to grow old and die with no name. And my daughter, Cloras the First, reunited this world after I died unknown, my ashes scattered over the same lands as Keth. And she, nor any of my long lines of descendants to the present day have ever felt the call, the Force of that power.

"I am the Lady of the Tower. And my name was Nirid."

The face faded away. The stage went to black.

* * *

**%% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %%**

* * *

The roar of cheers and applause started before the lights came back. Qui-Gon squinted. Even at the back of the stage it was bright after total darkness. Looking down, he saw that the platform he kneeled on was lowering to the stage. He picked up his lightsaber hilt and put it back on his belt.

Climbing to his feet, he stepped down. Then he held his hand out to Sebo. She took it and stood, her cheeks wet, her eyes still streaming, the smile in them of a person whose life was complete.

"Thank-you," she said breathlessly.

There was nothing for her to thank him for. He had fully intended to not participate in the Play, but the red vision had taken him again. And amidst the lust and corrosive desire, he had seen a spot of blue. It had been balance and he had to go to it to defeat the Dark. But when he stood before Yarr's ancient blade, the red light changed to a clean, cold blue; it overwhelmed him, blasting away the Dark into a nothingness from which there was no return. For one weird moment he had felt the Force completely leave him, as if he was adrift in empty space, the heat of any star impossibly far away. But it had rushed back at him, filling him again with strength and warmth.

"You are most welcome." He inclined his head so she could hear him; she grabbed him in a fierce hug and he patted her back.

From the sounds of clapping and shouting, pandamonium had broken out in the audience. He saw the outlines of people standing on the viewing platforms, including Obi-Wan. The storm of tension, anxiety and fear that had permeated the backstage hallways had broken into waves of bliss and happiness from everyone on stage and behind it. They had succeeded. They had won.

With one last squeeze, Sebo finally released him and blissfully happy, walked to the front of the stage and the line of performers bowing to the audience. Looking down, Qui-Gon bent and picked up Yarr's lightsaber and discarded mask. Staring down at the empty eye holes, he turned it over. There was nothing there on the inside, just a plain, dark padded surface.

Standing again, he spotted a rumple of dark brown fabric on the black stage, his robe. Some of the performers, running out to join the others at stage center, stepped on it on their way. Qui-Gon snatched it up and shook it out, still holding the Sith lightsaber and a strap of the mask in one hand.

He held the robe up, looking for the hood. It was upside-down. He grabbed what he thought was the hood and shook it out again.

"Go out! Go out!" The stage technicians frantically pointed at him, waving their arms, one of them hopping up and down. Qui-Gon ignored them.

Holding up the robe again, he saw that he had grabbed a sleeve and it was sideways. He turned it one way and it was upside-down again. Going the other way, he finally captured the hood, the most reliable way to find the shoulders.

"Ssssssatz!" Tykon's voice cut through the jubilation.

Exhaling, for half-a-second he considered ducking, but there did not seem to be much point. He let Director Tykon grab his arm and drag him out for one last formality with the crowd of performers at the front of the stage.

The shouting and clapping increased as Director Tykon held up his arm, presenting his trophy to the audience. Everyone in the Hall was standing, the people in front, calling out. On one of the platforms above, Obi-Wan stood and politely clapped with them; his expression bemused.

Tykon seized his shoulders in a hug. The Director was garishly dressed in a sparkling red shirt open half-way down his chest, white sash and metallic gold pants. Staring forward, Qui-Gon felt his breath on the side of his head, but he did not turn. So, Tykon had to settle for planting a wet kiss on his ear, his tongue curling up under her earlobe. The audience loved it.

Someone yanked his arm from the other side. Then Roobi Mwemas stood in the same spot he had been and grasped Tykon's hair, forcing his mouth to hers. The crowd loved that even more. Mwemas wore an iridescent long dress decorated with a wide sparkling floral pattern on the edges and that hugged and displayed her various curves and bulges too honestly.

Joining them, Thwurn Aka, wearing wide white pants and a bright yellow tunic, and Quembu Smetin in a long shiny, green and purple tunic, both grinned and laughed as if they were twenty years younger.

Qui-Gon rubbed his damp ear-lobe with his sleeve.

A floating platform descended, and Custodian Tykon, large and stately in her dark blue formal robes heavily trimmed in gold, her hair brilliantly white, stepped off to join them. And Qui-Gon saw that the formalities were not finished.

Sneaking behind him, Sebo latched herself to his other arm. She adoringly beamed up at him and he smiled back. He supposed that she would no longer be living the austere life of a deposed Sith anymore. This moment of glorious completion would last for the rest of her life and Qui-Gon was glad of that for her. Under the folds of the robe wrapped around his other arm, he still had Darth Yarr's lightsaber and mask.

On his other side Director Tykon drank in the adulation with an unquenchable appetite, smiling and holding his arms out as if to expose as much of his body as possible to their praise as he could. Roobi Mwemas eyed him with clearly carnal intent.

The performers ran up to stage center in groups, extending their moment of glory as the crowd threw bunches of flowers at their feet. The shadow dancers; Jedi, Sith, and the later versions of Nirid. The Castle servants. Darth Yarr's guards. The ones who had spoken or sung individually took extra bows, separate from the others. Then Hulus, back from the dead. Then Minigan who bowed with a flourish and a little dance step that got him a laugh. Then Keth and Nirid came forward together before Keth stepped back and Nirid got the biggest applause. Then all the performers lined up together. Qui-Gon spotted the three performers who had befriended his Padawan standing together. None of them had very large parts in the Play, but they now looked as ecstatic to be on stage as all the others.

Amidst the fragant piles of flowers on stage, the naked joy was like warm sunshine. Qui-Gon could feel it fill everyone there. Accepting the moment for what it was, Qui-Gon took his bows with the rest of the Creative Committee. He and Obi-Wan would be gone long before the celebration ended.

* * *

**%% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %%**

* * *

Obi-Wan saw his Master disappear from the stage with Sebo while the performers were still accepting the audience's wild aclaimation. Roobi Mwemas ran to the side with 'come up' gestues and soon the whole orschestra was lining up on stage as well, some carrying their instruments and makng noises with them. More flowers, in bunches and long strands were brought on stage. Soon, everyone carried bunches in their arms or had garlands draped over their shoulders.

Eventually, the shouting and applause lessened, the audience finally exhausting its lavish praise. Obi-Wan spotted Yana, Timoz and Jutwa among the performers, grinning as if bathing in the adulation from the crowd. It seemsed that their defense of Director Tykon's methods was vindicated. All their hard work was now magnificently rewarded. Obi-Wan did not think that any of them would be disappointed with getting only small parts in it, the Play was so well received. He smiled; feeling as if the whole Hall was filling up with happiness, a boundless energy and joy that could make anything possible.

Finally, the performers withdrew having sated themselves on the love and adulatin of their audience. The stage was cleared of props and people except for the piles of flowers and a cluster of musicians. A few more, with their instruments, joined their huddle. The crowd noise descended into a voiceless, anticipatory matter. They were already wondrously happy and they were expecting more.

The lights went out into complete, starless darkness. The sounds rapidly died down. Turning all around, Obi-Wan saw only complete blackness, but the vast room was still alive with people down below. Standing still, he waited with them.

A loud, throaty chord cut the silence before all the colored lights returned, sweeping from the stuge out and upward. The crowd roared.

Clik-clik-clik-clik-clik-clik-clik-clik-clik-clik- clik-clik-clik-clik-clik-clik-clik-clik-clik!

The whole audience stood and starting at the center aisle, the chairs snapped closed and withdrew, rolling out in a huge wave. More chords followed in a rough approximation of a song

The muscians had reassembled themselves into a band, center stage, flaring red and white lights fanning out behind them. A drum beat started pounding out with the music. A woman with fluffed up long black hair streaked with red, and wearing an asymmetric black body suit decorated with a lot of red and white triangles, twanged another chord on the stringed instrument she held.

"Oooowwwwww!"

Dancing, arms up in the air, the crowd called back. Down below, the chairs closed and rolled back from around the base of the viewing platforms as the woman began to sing.

**. . .**

**"Hey, what do you say?**

**Come out tonight**

**Replay History**

**In the moons' light?"**

******. . .**

Colored lights flashed, sweeping around the room as the whole crowd now danced and shouted to the new beat. The party had certainly started.

Obi-Wan saw the new Chancellor and her party stepping onto one floating platform to cross back to the gallery. Another headed in his direction, but it already had two people on it.

**. . .**

**"You can come here any time,**

**To spin my History,**

**And we,**

**Will see,**

**A new posterity!"**

******. . .**

Along with the lead musician/singer, Obi-Wan saw a line of people with similar instruments complimenting her. Among them was Roobi Mwemas, jumping and cavorting as she played and sang with the rest of the band whose members seemed to be noticeably older than the stage performers. Lights flashed and an explosion of glittering confetti rained down on the audience below.

**. . .**

**"For all time! For all time!"**

**We'll set this place on fire,**

**For all time, they can't deny,**

**This moment of our desire!"**

******. . .**

The floating platform with the people on it drew closer and Obi-Wan realized that one of them was a recorder droid, it's recivers pointed at a man speaking.

" - - - after this MAGNIFICENT performance I do not know how the Poonkagree or the Majwaru will be able to top Ebsi Tykon's latest masterpiece! The pressure will be on - - -"

With horror, Obi-Wan recognized the man speaking as the announcer that he and Qui-Gon had seen a few days ago on the public information holo, the one who had asked the Venerate of the Scared Pond of Urzaro about being neutered. With the chairs gone the floor was clear and many people had moved away from the viewing platforms by the wall and toward the center of the Hall.

The floating platform got dangerously close.

" - - - and now, we have one of our honored guests for this terrific performance of the "The Tragedy of Darth - - - "

Inhaling, feeling the Force rising up through him, Obi-Wan picked a spot and jumped.

"Oh!" Two woman with sparking hair and black and white masks on the upper parts of their faces jumped, but the other revelers he landed behind did not seem to notice. The announcer's platform descended lower.

" - - - and if we can just get a quote about this FANTASTIC Living History Play - - - "

Throwing the hood of his robe up over his head and keeping low, he wove through the bodies gyrating to the music.

**. . .**

**"For all time! For all time!"**

**We'll set this place on fire,**

**For all time-ime-ime, they can't deny,**

**This monument of desire!"**

******. . .**

More things fell from above. Long glittering strands and big shiny bubbles that people bounced and and batted back up in the air. There was an entrance leading to the work areas behind the stage on the far side of the Hall. Obi-Wan needed to rejoin with Qui-Gon.

A hand grabbed his arm.

* * *

**= = = End Part 32**

* * *

'Nothing' is roughly filked from 'Everything You Ever' from _Doctor Horrible's Sing-Slong-Blog._


	33. Chapter 33

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 33**

* * *

"Oh! I thought that was you!"

Still bent low, he peeked up under his hood and recognized Healer Mwassil, still wearing her Healer's tunics and veils, now decorated with bits of confetti, pale purple and yellow lights flashing across her smiling face. She grabbed him in a hug.

"Oh, he looked so _wonderful_ up there!"

The floating platform was still there, low by the wall. There were usually rules against floaters crossing too close over a crowd and that seemed to be the case here, but the announcer still craned his neck, looking for him as he spoke, his words lost in the din of music and partying.

"Ughh." Obi-Wan pointed and Mwassil turned.

"Oh, no! They're horrible!" Ducking low, too, her grip still firm, she dragged him deeper into the party. But halfway through they could not go any further. The bodies were packed so tightly, still moving to the music. The room was noticeably warmer and sweatier. Obi-Wan pointed toward the far end of the stage. But Mwassil shook her head and put her mouth to his ear.

"We'll never make it over there!"

They had to turn away from the crush by the stage, going almost all the way to the quieter back of the Hall where the more sedate partiers had taken refuge. As soon as they passed through the portal of the sound suppressor field, Obi-Wan realized that his com was signaling.

"Yes, Master."

"Where are you, Obi-Wan?"

"We're in the back of the Hall. We tried to get past to where you are, but it's too crowded."

"We?"

"I ran into Healer Mwassil. She was watching the Play."

"You were just _wonderful_ out there!" she chirped in. "I am so proud!"

"Yes, thank-you," Qui-Gon acknowledged. "I have the artifacts, and I need you to take them. There seems to be one final presentation and then we are free to leave. Custodian Tykon will send someone." He signed out and put the com away.

People came and went by them through a smaller door in a false wall at the far end of the Hall. A group, two men and two women passed by. They were all garishly dressed in colored metallic fabrics worn loosely over very fit bodies. One of the men pointed at Obi-Wan.

"Oh look! He's dressed just like a Jedi! I should have thought of that!" They went into the party.

"He _is_ a Jedi, you sssatsimit," Mwassil muttered unkindly. "Just look at them. We're going to have all kinds of business from this lot later; over-induging, headaches, stomachaches and I've seen just about every body part that can be sprained get over-worked at these things. The Plays are marvelous, but the aftermath is completely unnecessary. But it's tradition, so they get away with just about everything."

Above, a large floater coming very quickly from the stage side of the Hall descended. There were four Castle Custodians on it, three in light blue formal tunics, the fourth, Temba, in a darker shade, trimmed in silver.

"We've come to escort you to the backstage," he gestured to a spot in the middle of the platform. Obi-Wan turned to Mwassil to thank her, but she stole a big hug from him instead.

"I'm so proud to have known you two. It has been a privilege."

He warmly hugged her back. "It has been our privilege. And thank-you for helping my Master get well. I know he was difficult, but he does appreciate what you did for him."

"Oh, he wasn't difficult at all!" she denied, beaming. "I've had much worse. And you both look so healthy now, you do me so proud. Good-bye!" She released him and he stepped onto the platform. It immediately rose high, going toward the stage.

The reason for his heavy escort because apparent as soon as they passed back over the party. Every one of the viewing platforms, along with some of the floaters, was now occupied by people with holo-recorder droids whose sensors followed them as they went by, but none approached.

The band finished a song to loud applause as their platform passed high the mob and behind a black wall. There was another black wall in front of them and they took a sharp left turn as they descended. Qui-Gon was waiting with Sebo and Custodian Tykon. There must have been sound bafflers behind the stage because the noise from the band was much less than Obi-Wan expected.

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon took the gray strap attached to a dull gold metalloid box off his shoulder and handed it to him. It wasn't too heavy, but he hoped he wouldn't be carrying it for too long.

"If you think that you are at all in danger of losing it, destroy it." Behind Qui-Gon, both Sebo and Tykon looked horrified. Obi-Wan bowed his head.

"Yes, Master." He had no idea how he was supposed to do it or if that possibility was at all likely. Qui-Gon would have said something if there was a self-destruct device. All he could do with his lightsaber for such a large object was cut it in half and then cut up the halves. But if it did become necessary, he would try.

"Sssats!" Director Tykon appeared and slapped Qui-Gon on the back. "Ready?"

Sighing, Qui-Gon nodded. Apparently amused by the Jedi's lack of enthusiasm, Tykon slapped him again, waved to someone that they couldn't see and strode off. Qui-Gon laid his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, pointing him in the direction that the Director had taken. They moved slowly forward and Obi-Wan realized that they were at the end of some kind of line.

"Master, what is happening?"

"There is a final precession of the Play performers among the audience on their way to their own private party. We are not required to attend that," his Master assured him, "but since I was technically in the Play, it would be noticed if I did not make a last appearance."

Obi-Wan refrained from saying anything about Qui-Gon's name appearing in the Play roster after he lept on stage.

"And Director Tykon has requested one final act from me, and perhaps against my better judgement, I have agreed." He shrugged out of his dark brown robe. "Here, take this."

Obi-Wan took it, and rolled it up to carry under his arm. Under his other arm was the box. Sebo smiled up at Qui-Gon but did not say anything. They seemed to be last with a group of Castle Custodians behind them. The sound of the party in Tamwa Hall increased before they turned a corner where a sound suppressor portal glowed red up ahead.

"Hey, what are you doing! You're supposed to be up front!"

"Where're you going?!"

"Hey!"

Voices cried out and then Obi-Wan saw Yana, wearing only the gray tunic and pants that she wore under her guard armor on stage, rushed up to him and grabbed him around the neck. She pressed her lips to his, her mouth an open invitation.

"What are you doing?! Oh, Director Tykon, do something about this!" Custodian Tykon sounded upset. Director Tykon laughed.

Yana pulled back. Obi-Wan was sure he was not any good at kissing; that was definitely not part of his Jedi training. But Yana did not seem to mind as she hung off of his neck and gave his Padawan's braid a little tug.

"You are soooooo cute." She kissed his nose. "And I heard you weren't going to be at the party. So, I'm going to tell you now before you go." Her next kiss was all tongue and teeth to him; he found the warm, round curves of her body pressed to him much more distracting.

Suddenly she pulled away, just ahead of Custodian Tykon's grab. Grinning and dancing backward out of reach, she laughed and dashed back toward the front of the line.

"Oh, really!" Custodian Tykon complained. Director Tykon laughed again.

Obi-Wan felt a touch at his shoulder. Embarrassed, he took back the bundle of his Master's robe, which he had dropped. Then he shifted the strap over his shoulders so the box hung in front of him. Qui-Gon smiled but said nothing.

They moved past the sound suppressors and were again assaulted by the party, the band playing a thumping cheerful beat. Tykon appeared with his arms held out high and wide. The crowd loved him and he took extra time absorbing their attention. There were plenty of Custodians and real guards to hold back the crowd, but they did not seem to be pressing in too much though they did hold out their hands for Tykon to touch as if bestowing a blessing on them.

Then they moved out into the Hall, Obi-Wan keeping one hand on the box slung over his shoulder. The cheering was loudest for the lead performers and for Tykon, but the crowd was still appreciative of all of them. On their left Tykon continued touching hands, the Custodians and guards having cleared a large open space in the packed crowd.

The music changed.

Obi-Wan recognized a medley of tunes from the Play, but rendered on a much smaller, simpler set of instruments. Tykon, standing at the far end of the open space raised his arm. After a long pause, Qui-Gon raised his arm, palm outward toward Tykon. Obi-Wan felt the Force from his Master, like a warm, indrawn breath of energy.

Tykon stepped out in prancing dance steps and Qui-Gon matched him. The crush of crowd held back by guards and Castle Custodians gasped; the new Chancellor was among them.

Qui-Gon matched Tykon's moves, every foot tap, hip wiggle and hand flip. His motions were not fluid like the Director's, but they were precise. Kicks, arms waves, jumps, Qui-Gon's were the mirror image of Tykon. When Tykon spun around, over and over, his white sash whipping around, lights flashing off his gold pants, Qui-Gon spun as well, long hair flying out. And he stopped exactly when the other man did. Tykon paused dramatically, but Obi-Wan guessed that be was just regaining his balance from the spin. Qui-Gon remained unperturbed.

The music sped up and so did the competition. Tykon delivered rapid, prancing stomps and Qui-Gon mirrored every one. Tykon suddenly froze. Qui-Gon did, too. The dance proceeded in a series of fast moves and random freezes. The band started following the action, alternating between pounding a loud rapid beat and falling silent except for a couple of tense, plucking strings. The crowd loved it. The floating platforms with their holo-recorder droids circled above.

Tykon's hair and sparkling red shirt were damp with sweat, but Qui-Gon looked calm as they circled each other. Snarling, Tykon twirled and danced forward and the two closed on each other.

At arm's length, they froze, Qui-Gon's face serene, Tykon panting, his eyes wild. They spun again, arms out.

Obi-Wan gasped.

They stopped. Qui-Gon, with one hand grasping the front of Tykon's shirt, held the other man up completely off the ground, his toes dangling. The Jedi's other hand was firmly wrapped around the Director's fist, which was clearly aimed at his face. Even the band fell to silence. The colored party light spun craizily. With the sound of ripping fabric, Tykon wildly grabbed onto Qui-Gon for support with his free arm.

"Aaaah." Speaking loud enough for everyone to hear, Qui-Gon glanced toward the fist, as if noticing it for the first time. "I seem to be the first one of us to miss a step." He released Tykon, who dropped to the floor and stumbled backwards.

"You win." Qui-Gon smiled, turned and walked away. He almost reached Obi-Wan before the crowd erupted in cheers and applause and moved in.

Qui-Gon whirled around in a defensive crouch.

The crowd gasped and drew back.

Straightening, Qui-Gon reached his Padawan and retrieved his robe. The Custodians and guards reformed their ranks as the crowd resumed their noisy yells and cheers, but keeping a more respectful distance. The band started up again.

Looking around, Obi-Wan saw that Sebo, grinning broadly, was still with them. She still wore the mostly black Darth Yarr costume, though she seemed to have lost the mask and gloves. Obi-Wan was quite certain that the Sith lightsaber was in the box that he carried before him. People cheered and jumped up and down as they passed by, but as they reached the end of the Hall, the performers along with the new Chancellor and other dignitaries went to the left, waving and shouting farewells to the Jedi, except for Tykon, who stopped, smirked and applauded as Pecku appeared from the crowd and joined him. Qui-Gon inclined his head in return.

Then they were out the large doors, the Custodians and guards keeping back any stray partiers. They emerged blinking into full sunlight. It was only mid afternoon, the largest moon low in the sky. The Chancellor's flyer, a long sleek metallic blue transport with a closed canply, waited for them.

"Qui-Gon."

They turned. Sebo stood in the doorway, her eyes teary.

"Thank-you."

Qui-Gon bowed low to the Venerate. "I am honored."

A man in a dull silver and black uniform touched the side of the speeder and it opened. He closed it after they were seated.

Relieved, Obi-Wan put the box down on the seat next to him as the flyer rose up in the air, heading toward the spaceport. Qui-Gon sat facing him. They were in a private cabin. The pilot's head was visible through a window to a separate compartment up front. Qui-Gon touched a compartment on his left. It slid open and a table surface extended with refreshments.

"Master?'

Qui-Gon looked up from sniffing the clear contents of a flask.

"You said you were not going to be participating in the Play."

He nodded, poured water into a pair of clear cups. "I did. But the Force, it seems, had other plans."

"I felt something, but . . ." Obi-Wan paused, searching for the right words and settled for just the facts. "I thought it was just you. But I don't understand why you did it."

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows. "You sensed me then?"

Obi-Wan nodded.

"Nothing more?"

"No, Master. But the vision I saw of the woman with the baby, it was the same as in the Play. But, you saw more?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes."

"What did you see?"

Qui-Gon did not answer as he thoughtfully stared past his right ear. Obi-Wan self-consciously touched his braid and then quickly put his hands in his lap. Jedi Padawans learned patience while waiting for their Masters.

"I saw a tiny hole," he finally said, "A spot of . . . clarity. It appeared in the midst of the Dark Side. And then swallowed it up. And there was nothing left but a cold void."

"So," Obi-Wan lowered his eyes, "the Play is true. Darth Yarr renounced her power." He wondered if this was knowledge that only Jedi Masters were permitted to know. He had always been taught that all Sith ended as victims of their own vices, slain by their fellow Dark Sideers or defeated by Jedi, or those they oppressed or preyed on. Jedi. It was inevitable that the conflict they lived for would consume them. Or it was supposed to be.

Qui-Gon handed him one of the cool clear cups of water. "I must concede the possibility." He hunched over his own cup, clasped in both hands.

"How could the Archives be wrong, about Yarr? And Minigan? In the Play, he went to the Dark Side as well. And renounced it. And concealed what happened after he returned to the Jedi to become a Master later. Is it possible?"

Qui-Gon held up a hand, stopping the questions.

"All that must wait." Qui-Gon put his cup aside and sat back. "We must return all of this," he gave a nod toward the box on the seat next to Obi-wan," to the Temple and report to the Council. After that, all of the events of this mission will be carefully considered. It is very unlikely that you will be included in any deliberations." He sadly shook his head.

After a long pause, Obi-Wan swallowed his disappointment. He wasn't even allowed to access data about Sith in the Archives without Qui-Gon being present. Of course he could not be part of the deliberations. He nodded.

"Yes, Master."

They rode together in silence the rest of the way back to the spaceport to take the Maarzim transport back to Coruscant.

* * *

**= = = End Part 33**


	34. Chapter 34

**LIVING HISTORY**

by ardavenport

* * *

**= = = Part 34**

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

* * *

The air traffic was heavy in the lanes that passed on all four sides of the Jedi Temple, endless lines of air speeders and transports crossing the backdrop of blue midday skies. Qui-Gon stood at attention in the center of the Jedi Council room at the top of one of four lesser spires rising high over the Temple. Breathing deeply, he stared at the endless gray metaloid horizon of the city-planet of Coruscant, and reached for calm in the anonymous artificial plain and the ubiquitous air speeder traffic. The Council remained stonily silent, a multi-species circle of disapproval, satisfied that their rebuke had silenced him.

"Your decision is final then," Qui-Gon stated. There was no room for questioning at this point.

"It is." Mace Windu answered, the newest member of the Council and already one of the most visibly dominant.

"It is impossible for a Sith to renounce their power. It has simply never happened." Depa Billaba's tone was more kindly, as if she hoped to convince a misinformed Qui-Gon Jinn of the error of his ways.

"Consumed by the Dark Side, they are. A true Sith, Yarr could not have been." Master Yoda shook his head.

"She was only a pretender," Ki Adi Mundi smoothly repeated the Jedi Council's decision. "The holocron alone proves that. It was never used. It was likely defective when it was made, but she would have no way of knowing that. She kept the artifacts of Darth Baras after she killed him, but she never had any real power, other than her own abilities and powers of persuasion. Which must have been considerable," he quickly amended, throwing out this minor concession, "if she was able to deceive and kill a Sith Lord and then rule in his place."

"And Master Minigan? Were Yarr's powers of persuasion so great that she deceived the Jedi Knight who destroyed her? And Hulus, her apprentice?"

Master Yoda lowered and shook his head sadly. "Younger he was, when he defeated them."

"Of course, Hulus was a pretender as well. If there was no Master there could be no apprentice. Which had to be why he was so easily defeated when he attacked Keth and Minigan as soon as they arrived on Maarzim. Before they realized his true nature." Master Lerton explained.

"Fallen, Keth had, in the fight with Yarr. Affect even Jedi, loss does." Master Yaddle continued. "Mistaken, Minigan was about Yarr's true nature." The Council members had already conspicuously dropped the 'Darth' title from Yarr's name.

None of the Jedi Council had said anything about Minigan's statement that he had 'seen' Yarr's holocron destroyed. It was only a second-hand account and they would likely have decided that the person who recorded Minigan's account had misinterpreted what he said. Minigan never recorded a holocron of his own.

Qui-Gon stared up above the eyeline of the circle of Councilors judging him. "I wish to record my dissent."

"You have that right," Windu agreed. "But it will be separate from our judgement." Which meant that it would be buried in the Archives and not included in any of the history the main Archives taught to the young. Only someone researching Maarzim, Yarr and her defeat on Maarzim would see it. Qui-Gon inclined his head, indicating his acceptance. He had no other choice.

"You are dismissed."

Qui-Gon bowed low, turned his back on them and left.

Defeated, he sagged against the wall of the lift on the ride down. It had been like hitting a wall. As soon as the words were out of his mouth that Darth Yarr had renounced the Dark Side, the Council, the Archivists and senior Masters had denied the possibility and very soon began questioning if Yarr had ever been a Sith at all. They fixated on the holocron, whole and intact but as harmless as if it had never been used. So, that was their conclusion.

Strangely, they had not cared at all about his performance in the Living History Play. The most they gave him were disapproving frowns. Most disturbing was that they discounted the vision that had caused it and the others that he and Obi-Wan had. None of them had seen or felt anything other than the cold, empty void in their meditations together, and that could be interpreted in whatever way the Council saw fit.

Some Council members attributed Qui-Gon's 'error' to his (understandable) outrage over discovering that the Maarzim had been hoarding and venerating Sith artifacts. The lightsaber was certainly real and presumed to have been built by Darth Baras. Others attributed his 'mistake' to the illness that he and his Padawan suffered when he first arrived on Maarzim, though the Temple medical droids had pronounced him fully recovered since he returned. They expressed sympathy to him on both points, but that wa poor consolation. Yoda sternly warned him about keeping a clear mind after long sessions meditating that showed them only the cool blue void. Even Qui-Gon could not recapture the flashes of the Dark Side that he had seen. It had all vanished into the cold past, gone like Darth Yarr herself. But that was what Darth Yarr, as Nirid, had done, wasn't it? She had thrown off the Dark Side, renounced it and the Force, leaving nothing left. And nothing to be found, eight thousand years later.

Straightening before reaching the bottom of the Council spire, Qui-Gon exited as soon as the lift doors opened. Two younger Knights entered as soon as he left and he strode down the wide staircase past other Jedi going about their business.

He suddenly turned, cutting in front of a surprised young Knight. Stopping in front of one of the tall windows in the hall overlooking the roof of the Jedi Temple, he blankly stared forward, seeing nothing though things moved on around him; people walked behind him, their bootsteps muffled by carpeted floors, their voices distant and hushed. Breathing the moment deeply, he felt the past and future fade into events that would resolve themselves, separate from himself. Now, there was only the moment, and the Force, the energy of life that he could feel all around him . . . .

Lowering his head, Qui-Gon saw that the shadows on the floor had shifted a bit. Exhaling, he let the moment go. The sounds behind him sharpened. Qui-Gon moved on.

He had told his Padawan to study in the Archives and he found him at a terminal in the large central room. Obi-Wan looked up as he approached.

"Come." He did not wait to see if Obi-Wan followed.

On the second level, among the walls of glowing data volumes, a galaxy of information that covered many hundreds of thousands of worlds over many millennia, Qui-Gon stood at the railing, staring forward, arms folded before him, contemplating the tiny insignificant events of eight thousand years ago on an Outer Rim world amidst that ocean of data. Obi-Wan patiently waited by his side and eventually Qui-Gon rewarded him for it.

"After a detailed examination of the artifacts we returned from Maarzim, consultations with the records in the Archives and much meditation on the matter, the Jedi Council has determined that Darth Yarr was never a Sith after all. She was a pretender."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth. Then lowered his eyes before looking back up at him. "You disagree."

"Yes." He turned back to the view over the Archives. "I will record my perspective on the matter. But it will not be placed in the official history."

"Will I be allowed to see it?" Obi-Wan asked, his blue-grey eyes earnest.

Qui-Gon raised his brows. "I do not believe that it will be any more restricted that usual, but there will not be anything in it that you do not already know." They had discussed everything he had seen and felt at the History Play on the transport back to Coruscant. Now they stood together in shared silence for awhile before Obi-Wan finally spoke.

"Is it possible the Council is right?"

Qui-Gon sighed. "It is possible. Likely from their point of view given that not even Master Yoda sensed darkness at all from the artifacts we brought back."

More shared silence.

"Is it possible that you are wrong?"

"Possible." Qui-Gon whispered the word out to the Archives.

"Do you think you are wrong?"

He smiled. "No. I am not."

Brow furrowed in confusion, Obi-Wan continued. "But you think it is possible that you are wrong?"

"Yes."

"But you are sure you are right?"

"Yes." Qui-Gon's grin broadened. "It is possible for you to know that you are right and acknowledge that you may not be at the same time." He sighed. "I would wish that the Jedi Council understood that better."

His Padawan's expression turned thoughtful. Lips pressed together, Obi-Wan lowered his gaze for a long moment before asking his next question.

"Is it possible then, for a Sith to renounce their power. For love?"

The Council had answered that questions with a definitive, 'no.' Qui-Gon actually sympathized with their feelings. How could a mere relationship with another person compare will all the power in (literally) the galaxy? But Qui-Gon had never loved another individual like that, with a depth of feeling, a romance that the Maarzim History portrayed between Nirid and Keth. He was comfortable now with believing in the possibility. Just as he was sure of the wrongness of the Jedi Council's decree that it had not and could not have happened..

"It's possible."

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**%% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ END ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %%**

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**Note: **This story first posted and serialized on tf.n on 7-July-2013.

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**Disclaimer: **All characters and the Star Wars universe belong to Disney and Lucasfilm; I am just playing in their sandbox.


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